


Dog and Mongrel

by pierceplotholes



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Bottom Vulpes, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drug Addiction, Enemies to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, idk how to tag their relationship its complicated and mostly sexual, ig Ill only tag for what I have written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29563230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pierceplotholes/pseuds/pierceplotholes
Summary: A junkie Courier attracts the attention of Caesar's Legion, but he only wants the attention of one particular Legionary. Vulpes isn't thrilled about having to appease the degenerate at first, but finds himself going along with the game anyways.
Relationships: Courier/Vulpes Inculta, Male Courier/Vulpes Inculta, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Vulpes Inculta had met Courier Six once before, and knew instinctively that they would cross paths again. They had met in Nipton, moments before Vulpes and his Frumentarii were set to leave. The winning Profligate had fled, likely to his immediate death, and in his place came the Courier. Appropriately, he had looked like a man fresh from the grave, with half of his head covered in bandaging and hands shaking from what were clearly withdrawals, but Vulpes knew how to see further than that. It was the way he held himself that made him notable. There was a solidity to him that spoke not just to his immense size, but to the bone-deep confidence of someone  _ capable _ . The man found amusement in the lesson that Nipton served, and agreed to play messenger. Vulpes had been right.

Now he was going to meet Courier Six yet again, this time with a gift. He thumbed at the Mark of Caesar protectively, hidden within the suffocating fabric of his prewar suit pants, and waited for the doors of the Tops to open. The owner had fled moments ago, and the Courier was sure to follow. All accounts confirmed that he is a man who loves the chase.

Vulpes had not cared to ask for his name in Nipton, and felt no compulsion to learn it after. Any of his Frumentarii could have easily supplied it to him, as the man razed a path to New Vegas that was not hard to track, so he didn't bother correcting himself. Reports of his actions trickled in from the moment he had woken, but he was too reckless and mercenary for the Legion to make immediate use of. When the most popular news stations started following him, even they referred to him as “The Courier” or “Courier Six”. It was only when Caesar himself had shown interest that Vulpes bothered to look into it. Unfortunately, the only name he went by was repugnant. No doubt he was a raider.

Muffled yelling bled through the doors, audible even over the cacophony that is Vegas, and Vulpes stepped forward. The closest entrance was kicked open so hard the hinges squealed, and the Courier stormed out of the casino. Hastily stowing his excess weapons and scanning the area, he nearly missed the awaiting Legionary entirely.

“Ave, Courier Six.”

He snapped his head towards the voice, and recognition lit up on his face. Vulpes took the opportunity to memorize it.

His long, greasy hair was shaved on one side, likely to showcase the scar marring the edge of his left eye socket and the metal wires decorating his ear. The scar was clearly fresh, still swollen and pink, and it distorted the outside of his eye. As the Courier rubbernecked around, glaring into the Vegas crowds, he fumbled with the clasps of his power fist. There was blood still clinging to his leather outfit.

“You see Benny run outta here? Pretty boy with a checkered suit?”

“I can assure you, he's long gone.” Vulpes replied, “But I have an offer for you that may prove… useful.”

The Courier’s shoulders slumped, and he turned back to Vulpes with an irritated sigh. A low hiss came from the power fist as he finished readying it.

“Didn't think I'd see  _ you _ again, let alone in a suit. You followin’ me?”

Vulpes responded by gesturing towards the crowded street.

“Let’s talk in private, to avoid being overheard.”

The Courier eyed him warily, but he still glanced around into the edges of the Strip. There were a number of dark corners between the main road and the sheet metal barricades that would do. The Securitrons were sure to watch them, but it was well known that their range of hearing was mediocre at best.

“Alright, behind the Tops should work.” He flashed a grin that revealed his teeth had been filed to points, “Or we could break in my new room.”

Vulpes took note of the teeth and didn't reply. This Profligate mongrel disgusted him more with every moment, but he had his uses to Caesar and, by proxy, to him. If the Son of Mars could turn a monster like the Legate into the Legion’s greatest warrior, making a junkie mercenary cooperate would be no challenge. He followed the Courier down the steps away from the eyes and lights of Vegas, dipping his hand into his pocket once more. Once they were far enough that their voices wouldn't carry to unwanted ears, Vulpes revealed his purpose.

“The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you. Your actions have not gone unnoticed, erratic as they may be, and he bestows upon you the exceptional gift of his Mark.” 

Courier Six reached out to accept the Mark, and Vulpes placed it in his hand with perhaps a little too much reverence. When he lifted it to his face for study, Vulpes could barely make out the word “Cumm” tattooed onto the fingers of his left hand. Revulsion churned in his stomach at the unworthiness of the hand touching such a revered medallion.

“My Lord requires your presence at his camp, at Fortification Hill. Wearing this Mark will grant you permission to travel through our lands. Go to Cottonwood Cove. A Cursor will be ready to escort you.”

Courier Six's eyebrows shot up, and he looked back to Vulpes.

“Caesar wants to meet me? Why the hell would he? Does he know my name?”

Regardless of his doubts, the Courier pulled the Mark over his head and tucked it under his black leather armor. Vulpes considered the extent to which he was required to humor this chosen Profligate, and decided it best to indulge his curiosity. Let it not be him to blame for losing Courier Six’s fickle attention.

“Caesar has his reasons for summoning you, I’m sure you can think of  _ something _ worthy. As for your… name… I had the displeasure of informing him.”

That didn't mean he had to be polite. The Courier found the situation hilarious, however, and laughed openly at Vulpes. One of the Securitrons nearby noticed them, but didn't move from its post. The Frumentarii glared up at the other man, which only got him another sharp grin.

“Can’t escape it, know why?”

“No, and I don't-”

Without pause, he lifted his fists to eye level. Vulpes begrudgingly looked at the words tattooed there, barely visible in the deep shadows they conversed in.

Tattoos reading BUMM and CUMM were scrawled in thick, stylized letters on the flats of his fingers.

Vulpes didn't bother to hide the detestation in his expression, which only made the self-proclaimed “Bumm Cumm” grin wider. Vulpes internally prayed that Caesar's will never put them in the same vicinity again.

“My message to you is complete. Do  _ not _ keep Lord Caesar waiting.”

Turning on his heel, Vulpes had full intent of putting as much distance between them as possible. If he lingered any longer, he may just succumb to the desire to bolt him across the doors of the nearest casino and set the whole place aflame. 

“Wait, wait, what's your name?”

He stopped just long enough to grit out,

“Vulpes Inculta. The greatest of the Frumentarii.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visual reference for Bumm Cumm drawn by me: https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EgEuA_wWkAUwvrr?format=jpg&name=4096x4096


	2. Chapter 2

Bumm Cumm knows just enough to know that he is not smart. The Psycho jitters don't help. When Yes Man tried to explain Benny’s plan to him, he’d made it a few seconds in before the words became a little too hard for him to follow. He had, however, caught the part where Benny was likely heading to Caesar’s Fort. A fortunate turn of events, considering he was interested in heading there anyways. It didn’t take much brainpower to figure that a direct summoning from Caesar was not something that could be ignored lightly. Men like that take their time very seriously.

The trek to Fortification Hill was long and boring, doubly so during the stretches that they blindfolded him. Bumm Cumm didn’t think they knew that his Pipboy could map everything within a short radius, but he turned it off just in case. He was well aware of the kind of punishments the Legion dealt, and he didn't want to be mistaken for a spy. He is technically a NCR citizen, and the embassy knew it.

When they finally arrived, after hours of walking, they pulled off his blindfold and patted him down. He might have been a little more indignant of being stripped of his weapons if he wasn’t too busy gawking at the sight before him.

Vegas was impressive. Vegas was a shining beacon of PreWar glamor, built specifically to overwhelm. The Fort was impressive in a whole different way. Legionaries stood guard on every corner, watching the horizon, the slaves, the caravans. Metal walls surrounded everything, too high and rough to scale, and created the uncomfortable feeling of being trapped. The guards stripping him of his weapons missed the spiked knuckles he hid in his boot, but it gave him no comfort. Bumm Cumm wasn’t planning on pissing anyone off but, fuck, neither was Nipton and look what happened to them.

“Lord Caesar’s tent is at the top of the hill,” Cursor Lucullus said, “It’s hard to miss.”

Oh. He wasn’t even being supervised. That alone made him relax. Clearly they didn’t think he was that much of a threat if he was allowed to wander around at will. Bumm Cumm flipped his Pipboy’s mapping back on and watched it try to make sense of his surroundings. This place was too big not to have a guide for. The big path up was clearly the way to go, obvious with a quick glance, so that’s the path he took. As he scaled the makeshift stairs, he got a look over the walls of the Fort. To the West was a grand view of Lake Mead and the northern stretch of the Mojave Wasteland, and if he covered his bad eye with a hand, he could almost make out the bright flash of the Lucky 38’s tower reflecting the sun. The Hill blocked most of the Eastern view, but he could see the smoke trails from Legion camps scattered over the surrounding plateaus. 

The crest of the hill had another layer of metal walls and a heavily guarded gate. The doors were open, however, and none of the Legionaries standing around did much more than eye him down. Within the inner walls was row upon row of Legionary tents and a scattering of makeshift service stalls, all lorded over by a cluster of canvas huts raised above the rest. Bumm Cumm weaved his way towards what was clearly the command center and peered curiously into the inner workings of the Legion. He spotted what had to be pit or a training ground, with its hard-packed dirt floor and tantalizing smell of blood. The closer he got to Caesar’s tent, the better equipped the guards got, and Bumm Cumm none-so-casually made sure his Mark was well displayed over his leathers. As he got to the entrance, one of the elite guards ducked beyond the tent flap. The other watched him approach and quieted the guard dog that had begun growling the closer he got. 

“Ave, Profligate. Another Praetorian is informing Lord Caesar of your arrival.” 

Bumm Cumm stopped in front of the man who spoke to him. The Legionary, Predorean?, watched him hawkishly and clearly wanted him to stay put. His dog had stopped growling, but still watched Bumm Cumm with the same intensity as its master. Casually, he moved his hand closer to the dog’s nose, offering it for sniffing. He may have been tempted to try for a scratch if the guard wasn’t in perfect range for that ballistic fist to really fuck up his day. The tent flap was pushed open by the other Praetorian. 

“Lord Caesar will see you now.” 

Bumm Cumm stepped into the command tent, and his hands started to sweat from a surge of adrenaline. He wasn’t so much worried as he was instinctively aware of being surrounded by some of the most dangerous people in the Mojave. Two more elite guards stood on the inside of the entrance and he swore they stopped blinking when he passed into Caesar’s presence. The Courier barely made it out of the antechamber before the intensity hit him. Normally he’d be scoping out the room, counting heads, checking for exits, but he’d got sight of Caesar. The man sat in a decorated throne. His posture was at ease, thumb absently rubbing something in hand, but his eyes dug into Bumm Cumm and it took conscious thought to keep moving closer. Stopping in the center of the room, he dared to look around him. To the left was a cluttered table and storage. Surrounding Caesar was another set of Praetorians, Vulpes Inculta, and the entrance to another tent was behind the throne. Glancing to the right revealed none other than Benny, much to his shock, and the guard watching over him. With a better idea of the numbers against him, Bumm Cumm turned his focus to the important one in the room. 

“So I finally get to meet the courier who's accomplished so much in so little time. That's why I summoned you here, isn't it?”

Unsure what to do with himself, Bumm Cumm crossed his arms and tried to piece together what the Legion could possibly need from him. He took a glance at Benny again, trying to figure out how he even got here.

“Is there something you need from me?” he asked cautiously.

“‘Need’? No. But you may be of use to me. Do as I ask and you will be compensated, starting with Benny here. How fortunate that he fell into my hands just days before your arrival.”

His tone implied it was more than a coincidence. Caesar held up the object he had been messing with, revealing it to be the Platinum Chip.

“At the west edge of camp is an old building. Inside the building is a hatch, and inside that hatch are two steel doors that bear the sigil of the Lucky 38 casino. There's a slot about the same size as this Chip on the console that opens the hatch. Our friend here seems to think this Chip opens those doors.”

Caesar flipped it to Bumm Cumm, who snatched it out of the air. He hadn't looked at it all that close before Benny stole it, so the faint Lucky 38 etching was new to him.

“Destroy whatever House has down there, and Benny is all yours.”

“Destroy it?!” Benny interjected, “Baby, you don’t wanna do that! You find that cat Yes Man, yet? You could have Vegas in the palm of your hand-” 

Caesar gestured and a guard cracked Benny over the head, which shut him up fast. When his eyes stopped rolling, he gave Bumm Cumm a desperate, pleading look. So, Caesar wanted him to fuck up Benny's plans and would reward him with Benny himself? It was too good to be true. The Courier grinned his biggest ‘fuck you’ grin, and stepped forward. Nobody stopped him when he crouched down to Benny’s level, still smiling as wide as he could.

“Shoulda made sure I was dead, pretty-boy. ‘Cause I don’t want Vegas. I just want you.”

He took a moment to soak in the look on Benny’s face. Rage, desperation, despair. He could tell he was trying to hide it, to not give him the satisfaction, but Bumm Cumm has a real good read of people and Benny is far from a practiced stoic.

“I need my Fist if I'm gunna be breaking shit,” Bumm Cumm stated, and stood back up. He could feel Benny trying to commit murder with his thoughts alone.

“Your weapons will be returned to you while you're in my service.” Caesar replied and nodded to a Praetorian at the door, who left without a word.  
“Go. Don't come back until it's done.”

Bumm Cumm threw Vulpes a parting glance and flipped off Benny as he turned to leave. The old radio tower made the building easy to spot amongst the crowd of tents, and he met up with the Legionary carrying his weapons on his way down.

When the ground rumbled beneath their feet, the Frumentarius reporting in nearly dropped his statement. Vulpes took the endangered papers and scanned them, unbothered by the quake. Caesar and Lucius’s discussion was similarly unaffected, so the Legionary got the hint that whatever caused it was, as usual, according to plan. After a quick read, Vulpes placed the report on the table.

“You were right to bring this to my attention. Keep your post, but do not interfere. Assume those are your orders until I decide the best way to handle this. Now go, Lord Caesar is expecting someone. Vale.”

The Legionary returned the formality and made himself scarce moments before the Courier blew into the command center. Eyes wild and out of breath, Vulpes suspected that he had ran all the way back. His eyes locked on Caesar, who was still consulting with Lucius, with clear intent to present himself. Vulpes, albeit reluctantly, intercepted before he could disrupt. Courier Six made no effort to move past and leered at him brazenly.

“Almost didn’t recognize you without some kinda hat on,” he said in greeting, “Hard to forget a sight like you, though.”

So the Courier continues to hit on him.

“The point of my work at Nipton was to leave an impression,” Vulpes replied flatly, “though it seems the one you got wasn’t what was intended.”

Courier Six snickered and glanced over the other man’s shoulder at Caesar, looking impatient.

“Who’s the guy talking to Caesar? I have a debt to collect and he’s in my way.”

A spike of malice shot through him and he grit his teeth at the complete lack of respect. Where does this degenerate think he is? 

“Lucius, the head of the Praetorians. He’s in charge of the most lethal force in the Legion, so I would advise against disrespecting him.”

The Courier looked over Vulpes's shoulder again, but this time off to the side. Following suit, Vulpes noticed the hostage Chairman was trying to wring his hands out of his bindings. With how tight the ropes had been tied, however, his now-purple fingers could barely respond to his attempts. A bold move, but not subtle enough. 

“Hey,” Courier Six started, voice low and conspiratorial, “You think I could fight him in that ring you got down there? Fucking up his face while he’s tied isn’t as fun.”

Vulpes looked back up at him and caught a wicked smirk. Close proximity revealed that his left eye had not escaped the damage that scarred his skin. Part of his iris was torn out of place and had bunched over the black. The asymmetry of his look was clearly to exaggerate the disconcerting state of this eye. While he may be repellant and debased, the Frumentarius begrudgingly admitted that Courier Six had a striking presence.

“By Caesar's command, the Arena would be yours,” Vulpes replied, “Play by its rules, and you may draw a crowd. Crucifixion is an option as well, if you would rather his death be slow and torturous.”

The Courier considered it for a moment 

“Nah, that takes way too long. I’d rather fight him.”

Vulpes wasn't surprised by this decision, but he was somewhat disappointed. Stringing up the head of one of Vegas's Families would make an impression, both on the Legionaries and on the Rangers that watched from across the Colorado. Besides, in his experience, there were few things more rewarding than watching a strong personality finally crack.

“I'll take that shaking as a sign that you got the job done.”

The Courier’s attention snapped up to Caesar, and he dropped the casual look he'd exhibited a moment before. As he moved to present himself, his posture straightened and he held himself more assertively. Now freed from babysitting, Vulpes returned to his place at his master's side.

“House had a vault full a’ robots. I fucked up the reactors and the whole place blew, so there's nothin' left of it now.”

Vulpes glanced over at Benny, whose signature composure was cracking under the weight of his situation. Courier Six followed suit, and failed to suppress a triumphant grin.

“There are rewards for doing as I command.” Caesar states, “Today, your reward is vengeance. My Praetorians have been instructed to perform whatever execution you deem fitting. Unless you would prefer to do it yourself.”

The Courier’s grin widened, anticipation radiating off of him.

“I want to fight him one-on-one.”

This seemed to amuse Caesar, who gestured at the Praetorian closest to Benny and another by the door.

“Escort them to the Arena. Inform Otho of the circumstances and that this takes precedence.”

The Praetorians immediately turned towards the door, one of them hauling the Chairman to his feet roughly. When he tripped over his feet, which likely had as little circulation as his fingers, the Courier steadied him by grabbing his other arm.

“Awfully sweet of you to give me this chance, doll.” Benny said with a forced smile, “Didn't take you for a gambler.”

Courier Six jerked forward, staring the other down, and bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile.

“Gamble? I'm going to rip you apart, Benny. Just like I did to your Chairmen, and House's little army, and everything else that got in between us. Fuck, I'm getting excited.”

Benny flinched away from the Courier's face, but couldn't go far with the Praetorian on his other side.

“Get moving.” the Praetorian barked, and jerked Benny towards the exit with Courier Six following close behind.

______________________

By the time that Vulpes followed Caesar out of the tent to watch, the Arena already had a crowd. Whether it was the unusual nature of the fight or the contestants themselves, word had spread quickly that a match worth watching was on. If he looked closely, Vulpes could see some of the men counting their coins for bets. The Courier and his prize were being ushered into the ring, both stripped of whatever weapons they came in with. The Courier bounced on the balls of his feet, twirling the machete around with the ease of an extension of his body, and was clearly amped up for the fight. Benny said something that was lost under the spectators’ noise, and Vulpes was briefly tempted to order silence so he could hear the exchange.

Courier Six bolted forward and Benny barely dodged the first swing. Taking advantage of the proximity, Benny lashed out with an off-hand punch that landed awkwardly on his cheek. Both backed up and began circling, the first taste of each others’ speed on their tongue. Vulpes kept his eyes on the Courier, watching his stance, his footwork, his style. From what his Frumentarii had gathered, the man had little formal training but picked up skills and adjustments from a number of sources. Benny broke the dance, jabbing at Six’s stomach. He turned to dodge it, and Benny angled the blade straight down into his thigh. The Courier spat a curse and retaliated, cutting a stripe across Benny's chest that he managed to lean away from the brunt of.

Benny backed up, pressing a hand to the gash, but the Courier followed. Six jabbed forward and Benny dodged. Six went for the gut, and Benny parried. But every move backed Benny farther to the wall. When Courier Six raised his arm for another slash, Benny lunged forward, blade aimed for his undefended side. Six twisted, the machete barely grazing his side, and grabbed Benny’s arm. The Courier yanked him forward and headbutted him so hard there was an audible crack! 

A pained ‘ooh!’ came from the crowd, and Benny staggered back with blood pouring from his nose. The machete slipped from his fingers and Vulpes, along with most of the crowd, expected a quick finish. Instead, The Courier tossed his own blade to the ground and shifted into a brawling stance. Benny fruitlessly wiped at the blood, soaking his sleeve with crimson, and raised his fists. 

The Courier favored his good leg, and it threw off his stance, but Benny fared much worse. The gash across his chest oozed sluggishly while his nose continued to pour. The Chairman swayed where he stood, from blood-loss and a rattled brainbox, but had the grit of a desperate animal in his eyes.

“Having fun, doll?” Benny panted out, stalling a moment to try and pinch his nose.

“‘Bout to be,” Bumm Cumm snarled, baring his teeth. Before Benny could really catch his breath, Six jumped forward and landed one right across Benny's face. He was fast for his size, and had a far longer reach. Benny dodged the next swing, and jabbed for the Courier's ribs, but only put himself in the line of fire for a knee to his gut. He doubled over, coughing up a mouthful of blood, and Bumm Cumm kneed him one, two, three more times before shoving him away. 

The Legionary audience was screaming for a beatdown, and cheered when Benny stumbled back upright, a mess of blood and swelling skin. When Six moved to strike again, Benny threw a feint to the man's left. Bumm Cumm flinched away, and Benny ran beyond his periphery. To everyone's surprise, the Courier reeled for a moment, having missed where Benny went, and the Chairman snatched one of the machetes before Six spotted him.

They faced each other for a moment, assessing. Benny panted, looking pale from blood loss and exertion, and half of his face had begun to swell noticeably, but there was a look of success in his eyes from the way he outmaneuvered his opponent. The fight isn't over yet, but Bumm Cumm started to grin again.

"I'm gunna fuckin' devour you, pretty boy," he calls, and starts stalking closer. Benny holds his place, knowing he's between Six and the other machete. He adjusts his grip, waits until the man is close enough, and jumps forward. Benny runs a few steps, feints to the right and tries a swing for the left. Bumm Cumm anticipates it and dodges, still baring his teeth, and hooks a punch under Benny's outstretched arm. Benny grunts, snaps the blade to his other hand, and jabs for Bumm Cumm's shoulder.

But his jab is too slow, and Bumm Cumm wrenches the machete from the other man's grip. Without a beat, he grabs Benny by the lapels and jerks him forward in what looks like another headbutt. When his head ducks forward, he aims for his throat instead, and a second later jerks back in a spray of red. Benny's scream is garbled by the blood pouring into his esophagus and ultimately drowned out by the roar of the crowd. 

The roaring continues even when Bumm Cumm throws them both to the ground, Benny still kicking, and uses his teeth and the machete to rip chunks from the muscle of his shoulder. Benny finally stills in a pool of his own blood, his last seconds spent staring into the eyes of the man eating him alive.

_________________

"Well," Vulpes says, eyes not leaving the arena, "that may be of some use."

Caesar grunts an assent, similarly transfixed on the display below. The Courier made short work of the exposed muscle, hardly chewing before swallowing mouthful after mouthful like a starved animal. He’d worked down to the bone before he finally sat back with a glazed and enraptured look on his face.

“I don't trust him, certainly not with that matter nor dealing with House." Caesar turned to address his Frumentarius,  
"I'm putting you in charge of him. Your assessments have been sound so far and he is familiar with you. Make this Courier prove his loyalty, or use up what worth he has. I don't care how you do it, but make him ours. He could be just the piece we need before Lanius arrives."

Vulpes trained his sigh into an inconspicuous exhale and gave his Master a calm,

"As you will, my Lord." 

When he was not further addressed, Vulpes started down the path to the Arena. If he was going to work this filthy profligate into something Caesar could use, he may as well start now.

The Courier was having his leg attended to by one of the slaves, sitting just outside of the Arena. He was watching in amusement as a recruit finished puking up his lunch, but turned to Vulpes when he approached, eyes still wild with adrenaline. 

"Like the show?" Six asked, his grin a little manic. Some of the blood had been wiped from his mouth, but it still coated his teeth. 

"It was… enlightening," Vulpes says tactfully, "and may be of some use to us. Lord Caesar has assigned me as your handler until we find the best use for your skills." 

The Courier's eyes widened a little.

"You guys want me to work for you?"

Vulpes gave him a sardonic little smirk and replied simply,

"The only alternative is that you don't work for the Legion."

It took a few seconds for the statement to click, but then the man barked a laugh.

"Well, I don't need much convincing anyways. 'Specially not if you're gunna be my 'handler'. What do you have in mind?"

“When you are finished here, follow me to my tent. I’d rather speak of these matters in private. Some of the tasks you may be suited for are best not spoken around so many ears.”

The Courier grunted a confirmation and busied himself with rifling through the items that had been returned to him. The slave finished attending to his various wounds, no doubt expedited by Vulpes’s presence, and gave Bumm Cumm the clear to go. He hauled his bag over a shoulder and obediently followed the Frumentarius back up the hill that hosted the command center. Beyond the main group of huts were a collection of similar, but smaller, individual tents, presumably hosting a number of the ranking Legionaries. Vulpes entered one such hut, hooking the door flaps open as he went, with the Courier limping close behind. 

The room was sparse of what would be considered personal belongings, but every inch was utilized in some way. Battered filing cabinets full to bursting with paper, tables bowing from the heft of crates that were clearly supported only by the crates below them, and a similarly packed desk took up the majority of the space. Despite the sheer volume of content, however, everything looked to be meticulously organized. Shoved in the corner was a bed that looked like an afterthought, and the missing coyote skin hood on a stand nearby. With a single blanket folded neatly on top of the bed, and even more crates stashed beneath, it wouldn't take much to convince someone it had never been used.

Bumm Cumm dropped himself into the folding chair across from the desk without invitation, and stretched his damaged leg out gingerly. Vulpes circled around the desk and thumbed through the papers. Out of curiosity, Bumm Cumm sat up a little and tried to glance at some of the writing, but he couldn’t make out what they said, even with his left eye closed. 

“I have a contact in Vegas who is under threat and needs protection. There’s also the matter of the Howitzer piece. Are you familiar with the Boomers?”

Bumm Cumm stretched out and cracked his spine with the back of the chair. Vulpes watched him impatiently, holding the report he’d received earlier.

“Straight to business? I’m still covered in blood and you wanna skip right past the small talk? Not even a welcoming goodie bag?” His tone was annoyed, but the look on his face made it obvious he was just trying to goad Vulpes. “If we’re gunna hang out, we could at least get to know each other. I'd give you a cig but the gate guards stole 'em.”

Vulpes stared at him for a beat too long, weighing his options. This Courier was not well known to the Legion. He'd been under watch since he showed up in Nipton, but all they'd gleaned was that he was a vagabond, fingers in every pie. In the past few months he had made himself known to nearly every competing power in the Mojave, and had shown little preference for sides. 

Convenience was the only motive Vulpes and his Frumentarii could determine, though it’s not as if he had a constant detail on the man. The meal he'd made of Benny being a notable example of how incomplete his information was. The NCR had some information on him, but Vulpes had yet to get his hands on it.

Again, Vulpes found himself debating if he was going to come at this with the distance of his usual marks, or if he was willing to put the effort into playing the Profligate’s verbal games. Unfortunately, he had limited options, because Caesar himself demanded that he make Courier Six Legion. It seems he's going to have to indulge Courier Six. 

“If you want my attention, it will take more than beating up a retired highwayman.” Vulpes replied coolly.

Six leaned back and grinned, taking the bait. The gamble of threatening the other’s ego paid off. As he’d known before, the Courier loves a chase, and apparently not only the ones that end in fights. 

“Shoulda guessed your standards are a little higher,” Bumm Cumm says playfully, "A'ight, tell me about this contact."

Vulpes gave his new charge a briefing on his Omerta ear, Martina, and the need for her extradition. The Courier seemed confident he could deal with that, and pressed about the missing Howitzer piece. Despite the risks, Vulpes gave what information on the Boomers that he could, but was sure to emphasize that getting blown up wasn't the only way to replace the piece. Courier Six made a name for himself with more than a few difficult feats, but a quick tongue and strong punch couldn't do much against a mortar. 

"I suggest looking into less direct routes of entry."

The Courier made an absent sound of acknowledgment, his attention having turned to his Pipboy. The way his fingers worked the dials and switches, he'd had the machine for a while. 

"How do you spell your name?"

Without pause, Vulpes quipped,  
“You can read?”

The affronted look on Six’s face was actually kind of amusing. 

“No, I just lug this fuckin’ brick around cause it brings out my eyes,” he snapped.

“Did I hit a sore spot?” Vulpes replied, intentionally testing the man. It was just too easy, and he doesn’t get to toy with people like this often enough. 

Bumm Cumm opened his mouth, half-baked retorts ready to fly, but caught the Frumentarius’s expression. There was something calculated about that neutral look, and those cold eyes watched him too carefully. The Courier snapped his mouth shut, hard, and swallowed the fire climbing up to his brain. They were still playing, testing each others’ buttons, and Bumm Cumm hated losing. He relaxed back into his chair, and saw the small twitch of surprise.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m putting you in as Caesar’s Dog.”

Vulpes’s expression tightened almost imperceptively and Bumm Cumm couldn’t help but grin at that little success.

“V-U-L-P-E-S I-N-C-U-L-T-A.”

“V? Now who’s the one who can’t read? Your name is spelled vuhlps.”

“It’s a Latin name,” he stated. His humor did not extend to himself, apparently. Or maybe the Legion’s dumb choice in language. Bumm Cumm went back to entering the information he’d been given into his Pip-boy so he wouldn’t forget later.

The two were quiet for a short few minutes as they both dealt with the more menial aspects of their given tasks. 

“Inculta, sir?”

The Courier jumped as one of Vulpes’s subordinates entered behind him. 

“Ave, Fulvius. What is it?”

The younger Frumentarius glanced at Six briefly, before addressing his commander.

“We’ve made direct contact with the dealer. Our information regarding their alignment was correct, and they’re interested.”

Vulpes scribbled something down on the corner of a page before responding.

“Excellent. I want a report on the details from the team. We’ll discuss the next steps…” Vulpes glanced outside, “An hour before sunfall. I want to move on this before they have time to reconsider. Vale.”

“Vale.”

As the Legionary ran off, Vulpes immediately went back to shuffling through the box of files on his desk. Bumm Cumm watched with open curiosity, and drew the head Frumentarius’s attention.

“Do you need a formal dismissal, or do you not have somewhere better to be?” He paused just long enough to throw an irritated look at the Profligate lingering in his tent.

The Courier scoffed and hauled himself and his things out of the chair. 

“I’ll be back with the girl and the gun thing handled. Don’t miss me too bad," he said with a wink, and limped his way out.


	3. Chapter 3

Vulpes got word of Martina’s tussle with the Omertas within a few days, and that the Courier had surprisingly entered and exited the Lucky 38 with all of his limbs intact, but heard nothing after that. He may have initially assumed that he’d headed straight for the Nellis base, but the House visit made the Frumentarius incredibly suspicious. The lack of sightings for the next two weeks made him even moreso, but he was quickly distracted by the flurry of reports he got regarding an enormous metal  _ something _ being seen in the water near the disputed shore of Bitter Springs. He got so caught up in squeezing informants and organizing an investigative team that he didn’t read the Strip report that casually mentioned the Courier being seen at Vault 21 until the day before he showed up at the Fort.   
  
Vulpes was overseeing the training of some of the more promising Frumentarii recruits when Courier Six made his reappearance. Every Legionary that was recommended to him was already a skilled fighter, but Vulpes had them expand their horizons into less lethal methods of subduing an opponent. He stood out in one of the many training grounds the Fort had to offer, signature coyote skin donned, keeping an eye on the recruits and the Frumentarii adepts that taught them.

“ _ Guess who’s back! _ ”   
  
Vulpes didn’t need to see the obnoxious Profligate to know that he was the one announcing himself. Upon turning, the Courier broke into his sharpened grin, and continued to swagger towards him. The quiet muttering he caught immediately after meant some of his men had their attention diverted as well.

“Took you long enough,” Vulpes called, “I was starting to hope you had been blown up.”   
  
Courier Six threw his head back in a laugh and Vulpes used the moment to take in his appearance. He was carrying the jacket of his black leather getup, no doubt because of the blistering heat, but he could still see spots that seemed to have dried out and cracked. There were similarly placed burns on his arms that showed signs of the rapid-healing scarring of stimpaks, and the cutoff he wore confirmed that the chem drawings on his neck and eponymous knuckle tattoos were not the only ink staining his skin. 

“You know you want me,” Bumm Cumm replied playfully, stepping too close into Inculta’s space, “Alive, that is. Brought ya a gift.”

Resisting the urge to take a step back, Vulpes accepted the bundle his charge pulled from a pocket and dropped in his hand. It was a greasy oil rag wrapped around a howitzer firing pin, one in immaculate condition, to boot.

“Where did you get this?” Vulpes asked, genuinely curious.   
  
“Boomers.”

Stood so close together, and considering the nose of his hood, Vulpes had to tip his head back to meet the eyes of the other man. There was pride and anticipation coming off of him in waves, obviously so eager to please. 

“Well done,” he said, the words feeling awkward on his tongue. A distant “what the fuck” came from one of his senior Frumentarii, but the Courier’s expression lit up. That reaction took precedence over the momentary debasement of praising someone so unworthy. Playing Courier Six was so easy it was almost an insult to his talent.

“Want to hear about ‘em?”

“I am in the middle of something,” Vulpes starts, just to watch his face fall, “but I won’t be long. I’m sure you can find some way to entertain yourself until then.”

Courier Six itched at his arm and swiveled around a bit, clearly looking for something that could hold his attention.

"A'ight. I'm gunna talk to that guy at the Arena."

Vulpes didn't care to respond, and turned back to monitoring the trainers. He had them running drills on disarming techniques for handguns all day, and he could see that even his experienced men were showing their exhaustion. Courier Six recognized the dismissal, and made his way up to the innermost layer of the Fort, freeing Vulpes to go back to more important things. He began pacing between the trainees, checking their form, their footwork, their balance.

" _ Nerva! _ " he barked, making the senior Frumentarii flinch, "Keep your other arm up! I don't care if you're not using it!"

____________________

Vulpes let the recruits go once the afternoon heat was too unbearable. He considered making them continue until someone threw up, mostly for his own amusement, but didn't want to deal with the smell of sun-baked vomit the next day. As they staggered over to the nearest bit of shade, Vulpes made his way towards the Arena. If the Courier had actually contacted the Boomers, and not just snuck in and robbed them, his information could be invaluable. Then again, there was the issue with his visit to the Lucky 38 that he would need to investigate as well. While Courier Six seemed to be at least amenable to aligning himself with the Legion, he’s had plenty of amenable interactions with the NCR, and the Great Khans, and even the Fiends if the shaky rumors were to be trusted. His loyalty is easily bought, and nobody is in a better position to purchase it than the ruler of New Vegas.   
  


It wasn't difficult to find the Courier in a crowd. Shiny black leather and  _ at least _ half a head taller than most Legionaries, he stood out against the uniform browns and reds. Vulpes knew where to look, however, so even though he was crouched down, it didn't take long to find him. The man was introducing himself to an unusually friendly Lupa, who seemed enthusiastic about both the head scratches and all the blood she could lick off his fingers. Antony stood not far away, looking unsure if he should be allowing his prized fighter to be so affectionate with a Profligate.

“I wouldn’t make a habit of putting your throat anywhere near Antony’s hounds,” Vulpes said to the Courier, stopping just in front of the pair.

“Nah, I haven’t met a dog who didn’t warm up to me,” he replied, ruffling up Lupa’s cheeks, “Isn’t that right, girl?”   
  
Lupa wagged her tail cheerfully, much to Antony’s embarrassment, and Courier Six politely smoothed her fur back down before standing to address Vulpes. 

“You ready for me?” he said, with a vague gesture towards himself. Vulpes just turned and started towards his tent, which the Profligate was smart enough to catch was an invitation to follow. The man’s strides were longer than his, so he didn’t stay behind for long. Vulpes saw him wiping the remaining blood and hound spit from his arms on the filthy cutoff he wore, and then dig through his bag irritably. When they reached his place, Vulpes took a moment to pin the door flaps open while Courier Six made himself comfortable in the chair once again.

“Pretty sure that Otho guy just sicced a couple slaves he was tired of dealing with on me,” the Courier started casually, spreading out in his chair like he owned the place. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Vulpes replied, rounding the desk. He placed the oil rag and firing pin on the side and gathered a handful of blank papers in front of him. From a drawer he pulled a small bag. The denarii clinked around as Vulpes pulled and counted out a few, and then slid them across his desk.

“Your reward. Now, tell me anything you can remember, start from when you left here last.”

The Courier pocketed the coins, ran a hand through his greasy hair and sighed, thinking back. Vulpes took his seat and scratched out a quick header for his notes.   
  
“Well first I bothered Lucullus for the six hours I was stuck travelling with him by singing along to the radio off-key-”   
  
“ _ Pertinent _ information, Profligate.”   
  
“It’ll be petir- perni- whatever, when he drowns me in the Colorado. Anyways, uh, I stopped by the Lucky 38 to grab some of my shit first.”   
  
Vulpes was shocked that he openly admitted to it. Did he not understand the implications that had? He paused his writing to look at Courier Six.   
  
“House let you in even after you destroyed his bunker?”   
  
The Courier sat up a little, looking proud of himself.   
  
“Yeah, see, I convinced him it was all a big mistake. The security bot that I ‘accidentally’ kicked awake shot the reactor, right, and I already had House thinkin’ I’m dumb as a rock, so it just took a little begging. I tell him I’ll head right over to the Boomers and see if I can replace some of his toys or maybe get blown up in the process, suddenly I’ve got keys to the place again.”   
  
It was a little surprising to hear that the mess of a man before him was capable of that degree of tact, but not  _ that _ surprising. Even with all the attention he’d attracted in the past few months, the Courier had managed to avoid another hit on him so far. Vulpes wasn’t going to let his suspicions drop entirely, but the Courier’s words rang true. It was entirely likely that the Legion was yet another faction that he was giving half-truths to as well, but it was somewhat reassuring that he was so  _ open _ about them. He had to flip to a second page before continuing.   
  
“And after you left the Lucky 38?”   
  
“Headed north to the Boomers. Stuck to the main roads, found an old guy makin’ his caps by studying their range of fire and selling the info on a bet. I took the bet, duh, and used his notes to keep from gettin’ blown up. Once I got too close, they couldn’t shoot without fuckin’ up their fence, and they were lookin’ for an excuse to talk to an outsider anyways.”

The nose of Vulpes’s hood slid forward, so he pushed it off his head and let it hang behind him. He could see the Courier trying to peek at his notes, but it didn’t matter. The shorthand he was using wasn’t exactly encrypted, but it was unlikely  _ this _ Profligate could grasp it from just a quick glance.   
  
“Why?”   
  
“Well for starters they wanted to know their competition. They’re pretty serious ‘bout blowing people up. They also needed repair parts, help dealing with some giant ants and pulling a plane from Lake Mead, and a buncha other little things they didn’t feel like doing themselves."

Vulpes's hand stilled and he looked up to meet the Courier's eyes.

"They pulled  _ what _ from Lake Mead?"

"Rusty old plane that had been sittin' on the bottom. They had me strap some uh- fuck, what were they called?- some big rubber bags that filled with air, to the bottom of it. Pressed a button and it floated up to the top, then their robots dragged it back to Nellis."

“When was this?”

“Couple days ago, maybe a week. I can give ya the right time and location, just a sec...”

As the Courier flipped through his Pipboy for the details, Vulpes took the moment to get his notes caught up. If the dates matched, and if he could find any way to prove the Courier’s story, this would explain the sightings. It shouldn’t even have been surprising that Courier Six was wrapped up in this too. The fact that he managed to stick his nose into absolutely everything and come out with it intact is exactly why Caesar wanted him in the first place. Infuriating as he is, there was no doubt what an asset he could be if used correctly. Leaning forward, the other man displayed the coordinates where the plane had been sunk and pointed out the approximate route it was carted back. Vulpes copied down as much as he could, and snuck some of the Courier’s other surrounding notes while he had the chance. 

Vulpes pried more details on the Boomers from him, but there was only so much information to glean. He got sketches of the mapping that his pipboy had done, however, and that was well worth dealing with the Courier's disjointed storytelling. Getting access to that pipboy was suddenly very appealing. 

Courier Six was getting fidgety as time went on, and Vulpes doubted he'd keep the man's attention much longer. He was  _ trying _ to stay focused, but had started compulsively itching at his arm and glancing at his bag too often to go unnoticed. Unfortunately for him, his Fixer had worn off and the extra he had was hidden deep in his bag. Even if he could get to it subtly, he doubted he could get it into his mouth without Vulpes noticing. He didn't consider that Vulpes would notice his twitching, however.

"Need something?"

Bumm Cumm's eyes snapped over to the man. The innocence in the question felt manufactured, even if his expression was as carefully detached as usual.

"No."

Vulpes tilted his chin up a little, eyes narrowed, and had the ghost of a knowing smirk on his face.

"Are you sure about that?"

Bumm Cumm grit his teeth and crossed his arms. His leg still bounced furiously, but he could keep his hands under control. For now. He had a suspicion that Vulpes wasn't the type to let slide the fact that he managed to smuggle contraband into the heart of the Legion camp. 

"Yes."

"Well if that's the case, let's go over the incident with Martina Groesbeck as well."

Vulpes made a show of evening out his pages of notes and dropping them into his files. With absolutely no urgency, he pulled the dossier on Martina and wrote out a header for his new notes. Bumm Cumm wasn't sure what it was that the Frumentarii thought he wanted, but it was pretty obvious he knew it was  _ something _ . Fuckin' prick. 

"Not much to tell. Buncha Omerta twerps were threatening her in Vault 21. I told 'em I was gettin' paid to wring out anyone rude to her like a flesh towel, and they fucked off real fast. I hang around there sometimes so Martina recognized me, told me she's a NCR ear. Figured that was a cover for one of your guys, so I didn't press."

Vulpes didn't respond, just kept writing. The silence only lasted a second, but it made Bumm Cumm itch, so he kept talking.

“You allowed to tell me that the Omertas are working with the Legion?”   
  
This got the Frumentarius’s attention, and he glanced up from his notes.   
  
“Where did you get that idea?”

“They stopped buying guns from their regular place, some of the Gomorrah lays said they’ve been on edge, now they’re diggin' up NCR ears." He shrugged.

"Little things."

He caught Vulpes give him the shadow of a smirk before turning back to his notes. Fuckin' bastard. Bumm Cumm waited for another agonizing few seconds as the other finished. Once he placed his pen down, he sat back and eyed him pensively. 

"Are you a regular at Gomorrah?" 

Now that wasn't a question he was in the habit of answering, especially not when asked by a snack like Inculta. As much as he wanted to get out of there and pop some Fixer before his itching started to drive him insane, his baser drives won out. So he dodged it.

"I thought you kept eyes on me?"

Vulpes scoffs, and reaches for his files.

"I don't keep eyes on  _ you _ , I keep them on the  _ Strip _ , which you frequent."

He opened the dossier, and Bumm Cumm got a glimpse of the contents. A couple dozen pages of neat writing, some with scrawled notes on the sides, and what looked like a rough drawing of a person with arrows pointing to different parts of the body- Wait. Those were familiar locations. 

"Is that my file?"

Vulpes didn't look up but he hummed an affirmative.

"How many of my tats you got?"

"How many do you have?"

Bumm Cumm grinned and patted his legs invitingly, intentions very clear. He'd give the Legionary a show, have him end the tour getting real familiar with the ink on his inner thigh.

"There's an easy way to find out."

This earned him a glance, albeit a short one. Vulpes found what he was looking for, apparently, because he stilled to read. Bumm Cumm started bouncing his other leg and continued to rub the warm leather of his pants. Terrible for its longevity, but he wasn't in a state to care. Vulpes flipped the page over, jotted something down, and went on to read the next. If he isn't given an out in the next three seconds, he swears to  _ god _ -

Vulpes ripped his notepage in half and handed it to him. Reflexively, Bumm Cumm took it. When he looked down at it, none of the words made sense.

"Take that to Fulvius, he's in the tent by the radio tower. Not far from the weather station."

Bumm Cumm felt like he was missing something. Is that it? Should he come back? What?

"Okay." he said, but didn't get up. Vulpes quirked an eyebrow up at him.

"Make it quick, I have other matters to deal with after you."

Shaking himself, like that would somehow keep the fog from creeping into his head, he grabbed his bag and shot out the tent. The second Vulpes was out of sight, his arm was digging through his bag. The pocket was hidden along one of the inside seams, and was just big enough for a few tablets of Fixer. He had another pocket that usually carried backup Psycho, but Bumm Cumm didn't want to know how the Legion punishes chem smugglers so he left his entire stash. With a quick glance around, he popped a Fixer under his tongue.

Despite the crawling sensation in his extremities, Bumm Cumm slowed his pace. The "weather station" wasn't a terribly far walk, but the dizziness from the Fixer was gunna hit in a second and he didn't want to be mid conversation. He feigned sifting through his bag, past the restless bustle of Legionaries, as the vertigo and electric buzz in his forehead made him stagger. Once the most powerful zaps had faded, he closed the remaining distance to the station. Sure enough, on the side opposite the door was a squat canvas tent. A dozen or more wires trailed from the station and the radio tower to the walls of the tent. Pushing through the door flap revealed what had to be some kind of a communications center. A number of metal cabinets full of electronic  _ stuff _ that was far beyond his grasp lined the edges, and a Legionary wearing a chunky headset manned a desk in the center. He didn't seem to have noticed someone in the room with him.

"You Fulvius?" Bumm Cumm asked, Fixer tablet clicking against his teeth. The Legionary turned to him and pulled the headset away from one ear. 

"What?"

Facing each other, Bumm Cumm vaguely recognized him as a Frumentarius he'd seen before. He held out the incomprehensible note. 

"Vulpes told me to give this to you."

Fulvius took the note and, after squinting at it for a second, snorted.

“What’s it say?”

Fulvius swiveled in his chair to grab a clipboard hanging off one of the metal cabinets. He flipped through the pages and wrote out a few quick words. Bumm Cumm sucked hard on his Fixer and resisted the urge to throttle this Frumentarius. Fuckin’ Legionary spies and their fuckin’ codes that he couldn’t read. 

“It says to give you access to one of our low-risk security channels and that your callsign is ‘Mongrel’.”

When Fulvius swiveled back towards him, he picked his knees up just enough to give him a little extra momentum. Bumm Cumm was reminded of the chair he’d spun around in as a kid, and suspected that the brief thrill was the most fun Fulvius got all day.

“You can program the radio on your- uh- computer, yes?”

Bumm Cumm flipped to the radio screen and held it out for the other to mess with. Fulvius worked the dials cautiously, adjusting settings that Bumm Cumm didn’t have the slightest grasp of.

  
“‘M surprised you know how to work a Pipboy. With the Legion not liking robots and stuff.”

Fulvius finished whatever he was doing and gave Bumm Cumm his arm back.   
  
“Sometimes the NCR use them to move information they don’t want on paper, and all of this-” he gestures at the radio equipment around him- “uses computers.”

“So what did you do to my radio?”

“Saved the channel and programmed the encryption code so you can actually hear it. Inculta’s note didn’t say what you need it for, though, so ask him about anything else.”

Bumm Cumm gave him an offhanded thanks, and Fulvius put his headset back on. After stepping out of the tent, he tuned the radio to the new channel and listened to it as he made his way back.   
  
_ It’s all blue skies east of the cliffs. _

A few second pause.

_ Vultures got to the profligate this morning. He squirmed, but didn't scream. _

Another pause, shorter this time.   
  
_ The old trail ends at a cazador nest. _

Immediately bored, Bumm Cumm turned it off. The short, sporadic messages made no sense to him, and he sure hoped Vulpes didn’t expect him to listen to it. Mr. New Vegas was far more entertaining, and he could only have one channel on at a time. Bumm Cumm rolled the bitter Fixer tablet over his tongue one last time before stepping back into Vulpes's tent. The man was standing in front of a filing cabinet and sifting through more files. Vulpes glanced over his shoulder just enough to acknowledge him, but didn't stop what he was doing. Unsure what else to do with himself, Bumm Cumm took the opportunity to ogle the other man. 

Vulpes had been the first Legionary he'd seen, and made quite an impression. That amount of destruction wreaked by a handful of people was more than a little alarming, but what had really got him was Vulpes's intensity. Bumm Cumm was a head taller and could crush bone with his hands, but every nerve in his body fired warning signals when those blue eyes met his. Bumm Cumm was very familiar with violent rage, the thrill of tearing the life out of someone, and revelling in carnage. So he could tell that Vulpes knew all that too, could see it in the slight curl of his lips and from the worn handle of his ripper that still dripped with gore. But what really struck him was the tight control he had over that violence; The perfect posture, the deliberately chosen words. Well, that and the slutty, threadbare skirt.

Bumm Cumm had been too high on alert at the time to even get his name, but afterwards he'd asked everyone he could about the Legionaries, and what an earful he got. Rumors of a sprawling Empire, rigorous training from a young age, plenty of Legionary buttfuckery, and notoriously dedicated spies. He'd never expected to see Vulpes again, had no idea who he even was, but then he'd showed up in that poorly fitting suit and asked to speak in private. The thrill of danger and memory of those sculpted thighs combined into a lust that made his head spin. 

Bumm Cumm dragged his eyes up Vulpes's body, taking in what shape he could see. The stain of sweat that marked the dip of his spine, the muscles of his back, the hair that stood out so dark against his light skin. He resisted the desire to touch him, he really did. But then he noticed that the straps crossing his back were of that stretchy pre-war material and before he could stop himself, he reached out and- 

_ Snap! _

Vulpes flinched. It occurred to him just then that Vulpes may be in full rights to kill him. Vulpes turned to him, met his eyes with violent intent, and then… his expression shifted ever so slightly.

"What do you want, Courier?" He said, suspiciously calm.

Bumm Cumm licked his lip nervously, but grinned in a way he hoped was non-threatening.

"There's a lotta things I want," he dared, "but you could start with telling me why 'Mongrel'."

Vulpes held his gaze for a second longer, and the rising thrill in Bumm Cumm's system couldn't decide to route to his dick or his fists.

“It is a fitting callsign. I assume your radio is set up?”

Bumm Cumm couldn't help but wonder if the Legion knew who he used to run with before he started Courier work. Took him ages to get the dog smell out of his stuff.   
  
“Yeah. What for?”

Not answering immediately, Vulpes instead turned to his files. He fished for whatever it was he was looking for and then moved to stand by his desk again. He skimmed and reorganized papers as he spoke.

“I have use for your connections,” he started, “and I need a quick way to contact you. The messages have a short loop and are controlled carefully. Check it regularly, and listen for your callsign. The content is irrelevant, just know that the only use of ‘Mongrel’ will be for you. Do you understand?”

Bumm Cumm took a moment to process everything that had been said. Why was it so convoluted if you needed a password just to hear it?   
  
“Uh, I think so? If I hear ‘mongrel’ at all you want to talk to me? Then what?”

He watched Vulpes clip a few pages together with one of those same curled wires that decorated his own left ear. A second stack was placed into what looked like a leather envelope.

“Then you drop whatever you’re doing and meet with me or one of my Frumentarii. In this case, at the Atomic Wrangler in Freeside.”

“You know what to do in there?”   
  
He was ignored entirely, not even getting an irritated look. Vulpes just kept moving as if he hadn’t said a word. The leather envelope and a holodisk case is handed to him. 

“The package is for the Frumentarius Karl, at the Great Khans' encampment. The holodisk needs to be given to the Fiend called Motor-Runner, in Vault 3, before the end of the week. If you are fast, you might find assistance from the Khans to reach the Vault.  _ Do not _ let anyone else touch these. Understood?"

Bumm Cumm repeated an approximation of what he'd heard, and Vulpes confirmed he had it right. He stuffed the items into his bag and sat down to enter the tasks into his Pipboy in case he forgets. Talking to the Khans was a good idea. He'll ask Jack and Diane how their runners avoid getting torn apart by the fringe crazies. Fuck. He'd have to really control himself, hanging around the Vault Fiends. Avoid trying every "new flavor" that they cook up. Bumm Cumm sucked on his Fixer and spaced out for a second, lost in memories of spectacular highs long past. 

"Mentats or Fixer?"

Bumm Cumm jerked his head up in shock. Vulpes was glaring at him from his files, and Bumm Cumm felt his palms begin to sweat. He didn't need to imagine the violent prejudice Vulpes could commit.

"Fixer. I know chems aren't allowed in the Fort."

Vulpes didn't stop glaring, but he didn't look  _ more _ pissed either.

"Fixer is a chem."

He snorted.

"Barely. And I ain't half as nice when I'm comin' down. What gave me away?"

"You have been swallowing excessively since returning and something is under your tongue."

Fuck, really? Who  _ notices _ that? A spy, apparently. Vulpes eyed him for a moment longer, considering. Bumm Cumm fiddled with a dial on his Pipboy, but didn't break eye contact with the Frumentarius. He wasn't sure if it was to show he isn't intimidated or because he  _ is _ intimidated. 

"Keep them to yourself, and I will allow it. However, I won't vouch for you if someone else catches you. The punishment for smuggling chems is death."

Holy shit.

"What's  _ not _ punished with death?"

Vulpes dropped the pinning stare to think.

"Minor failures and insubordination. Careless loss of property. Whipping is most common, but other punishments may be used to better fit the crime."

Bumm Cumm grimaced and turned back to his Pipboy. As he finished updating his task log, Vulpes finished sifting his files and grabbed the firing pin that the Courier had recovered. 

  
“Unless you are interested in a dull conversation about munitions, you are free to leave. I’d recommend finding Lucullus before the sun starts to set, I doubt you want to be stuck here after curfew.”

The word ‘curfew’ was new to him, but he didn’t want to linger much longer anyways. Fixer isn’t easy to come by and he isn’t thrilled about long stretches of sobriety. Vulpes stared at him expectantly, so Bumm Cumm assumed that was a tactful way to tell him to fuck off. He stood and stretched, giving the other man a taste of his towering height and the hard muscle of his navel. When his shirt lifted to reveal skin, Vulpes glanced down, no doubt at the radioactive symbol tattooed around his bellybutton. 

Stepping around the Frumentarius, he exited the tent. The sun was setting, but still hit him with its full brunt. The ground shimmered with heat and he had to squint facing even slightly West. Adjusting his duffel across his back, he made a beeline to where he knew Lucullus would be waiting.


	4. Chapter 4

Radio New Vegas rang clear in the still air. There was no wind today, and what scant breeze may be kissing the Mojave didn’t make it past the ruins that Bumm Cumm had his back to. He didn’t need the Pipboy to tell him summer was creeping in. He may have been concerned that his radio would attract attention if he had seen  _ any _ sign of life since the sun rose. In his sliver of shade, Bumm Cumm wished he could lay low through the heat too. Unfortunately, he was on a time crunch. This is also why he was tapping impatiently at a syringe of Psycho instead of something that wouldn’t make him even hotter and sweatier. 

The needle bubbled just once more before he got all the air out. A bead of pale pink liquid formed at the tip and he was careful not to let the precious drop fall. 

Bumm Cumm wriggled a bit, getting comfortable in the big tire he sat in. If he wanted to get there on schedule, with time to catch up with Diane & Jack, then this chem break is the only break he’s getting for a while. His feet were kicked up on his bag, bootless and sore. He had to take the long way, looping North above New Vegas, in order to avoid deathclaws and the fringe Fiends' scraps with Camp McCarran. Unfortunately that meant walking for nearly two days straight.  _ Thank fuck for Psycho. _ He looped his tourniquet belt around his left arm, pulled it taut, and searched for a relatively intact section of vein. Pressing the needle against the spot, he had half a second to regret his decision not to find a fresh one before it  _ ripped _ through his skin. Bumm Cumm grit his teeth and pushed the plunger down.

The chem was liquid fire in his vein and when he released the belt, he felt it climb up every inch of his arm. It reached his heart, and there was a brief pause of anticipation before the first wave of euphoria surged through him. He managed to put his shit down right before it started, and Bumm Cumm leaned back in his makeshift seat to ride it out. He timed his breaths with the waves, so that his exhales travelled from his chest to his extremities with static tingles that made his toes curl. Running his hands through his hair and over his face caused little bursts of pleasure that bounced around inside his skull. Somewhere in the part of his mind that had done this a hundred times before, Bumm Cumm knew he had a short window before the energetic phase took over. A short window to.. a window to.. 

The high swept him away into a multi-course feast of pleasure that put his strongest orgasms to shame. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he regained the capability to finish a thought, but it was long enough for the entirety of  _ Big Iron _ to play. Mr. New Vegas chimed in near the end of the song, and Bumm Cumm anchored onto it. The starbursts of euphoria behind his eyes made it hard to switch focus to his surroundings. 

" _ Howdy folks, it's Mr. New Vegas, and I have a good feeling about all of you listening. _ "

“I've good feeling too,” he replied aloud, stumbling over his words. What was he doing, again? Oh, right!

Bumm Cumm jumped out of his ‘seat’ before the idea to do so had fully formed, and his head spun as he tossed his belongings haphazardly into his duffel bag. Heart hammering in his chest, he snagged his Pipboy and raced off. He took a good number of paces before the burning of his soles reminded him that he wasn’t wearing shoes. He ran back and tugged on his boots, struggled to tie them with his shaking hands, and then went right back to running South.

The Psycho coursing through his system latched onto his run. He felt every muscle fiber tense and release, every breath expand his lungs, the rhythmic pounding of his boots. His entire being focused on the incredible high of sprinting full speed and drowned out everything else. He hung right as a few more buildings came into sight, heading towards the mountains and away from the Fiend-infested ruins.

_____________________

If he cared to try, Bumm Cumm couldn't count how many times he'd made the trek to Red Rock Canyon. Partly because he'd get bored of counting and do something else, partly because often he'd been so fucked up he doesn't remember getting there, but mostly because he'd walked this path a  _ lot _ . Unfortunately the comfort of familiarity was overwhelmed by the discomfort of having been walking nonstop for way too fucking long. Bumm Cumm was dragging his feet by the time he saw the first lookouts. He gave them a friendly wave and made a show of putting his Power Fist away. 

Somebody he didn't recognize greeted him at the entrance to their territory. He pulled out the package for Karl.

"Where're you headed?" she asked, trail carbine in her hands. She scoped him out, eyes darting to the Jet tattoo on his neck, the track marks and Pipboy on his arms, the bigass duffel on his back.

"I was gunna ask you that, funny enough,” he replied, and waved the leather pouch, “I’m a Courier, got somethin’ for a dude named Karl.”

“Karl, the Legion stooge? He’s hanging around Papa, usually. You know your way to his place?”   
  
“Yeah, I'm not new around here. Thanks for the tip.” He gave her a wink and walked on towards the lone pre-War building in the canyon. His calves burned making the final climb but he was… is..? a Courier for good merit. The door was open, as were all the windows, and he could hear casual chatter inside.

There were a dozen Khans inside, lounging or eating, and Papa Khan sat in his place at the head table. To his right was his second, a guy named Regal. Reagan? Regis? Yeah, Regis. They were talking about something stupid, based on the look on them both. To his left was the only person not wearing a Khan uniform. Hair shaved close, ramrod straight posture, off-red shirt. Definitely the guy he was looking for. Bumm Cumm stepped over to him.

"You Karl?"

The man turned to him and gave him a look of distaste.

"Yes, what do you want?"

Bumm Cumm handed the package over and watched as Karl's expression turned to surprise. He took the leather satchel and unwound it to skim the papers within.

"I'll be uh..  _ hangin' around _ Jack and Diane tonight if you wanna send something back. Just catch me before I leave." 

"That won't be necessary." Karl stated, not bothering to even glance at him. Didn't tip, either. Dick. He was starting to wonder if all the Frumentarii were like this or if he just had bad luck. Papa Khan gave him a glance as he turned to leave, and Bumm Cumm returned it with a respectful nod. It had been a good couple months since he’d hung with the Khans but people didn’t tend to forget him. Even before Benny redecorated his face.

Delivery one of two done. Next stop, kick his feet up with some old friends and figure out the best route to Vault 3. The walk to Jack & Diane’s lab was mostly downhill, which he was grateful for every time he walked it. The high canyon walls cast him in deep shadow, and he let out a sigh of relief. The Psycho in his system had been simmering down for an hour or so, and the sudden relief from the summer heat was draining him of what little energy he had left. Diane spotted him as he got close, and waved a greeting. The friendly gesture gave him his last bit of wind, and Bumm Cumm staggered to their little campfire. 

“Bumm, buddy!” Jack called, and jumped up from his seat. Jack is a scrawny dude who only comes up to Bumm Cumm’s nose, but he hugs like a yao-guai. Diane’s hug is a little gentler, shorter, and is punctuated with a “Ew, you are _so_ _sweaty_.” He grins and tries to rub his armpit in her face, which makes her squeal and punch him in the ribs. It hurt, but not more than his feet, so he just winces and laughs and drops into one of their lawn chairs.

"How've you two been?" he asks, and starts stripping off his shoes, "Been a crazy couple months."

"Tell me about it," Jack grumbles.

"We've got more buyers than runners, but we're feeling optimistic. The rest of the Khans are hit or miss. Melissa is trying to figure out how to deal with the Deathclaws on the 15. Jerry is itching to run. Papa is real excited about this Legion deal."

Bumm Cumm drops his boots with a little more attitude than they deserve. 

"Maybe  _ you're _ feeling good," Jack whines, "I've been so busy, my chakra is all fucked up. You had that bad Hydra trip 'cause all these tense energies are bleeding into the crop."

"Not too busy to sleep through the whole day."

"I'm a Libra, I  _ need _ 10 hours."

Diane rolls her eyes and Bumm Cumm snickers at the banter.

"Nah, but we're fine. No problem we can't handle." Jack says, and rifles through the cooler next to him. "What do you need to hit before you tell us what you've been up to. 'Cause your face says it's not good."

Stretching out on the chair, he took the second to see what his head was feeling. Most of the Psycho was out of his system, if the pinprick of pain behind his left brow said anything. He was looking forward to passing out later, though, so he might have to wait on that until morning. Maybe see if Jack had any fresher needles he could trade out.

  
  


“Jet,” he said, “and alcohol.” 

Jack tossed an inhaler at him, and Bumm Cumm let it land on his chest with a bounce. The aches in his legs and feet begged for med-x, but it doesn’t mix well with Psycho and he knows he’d be out for the count within minutes. Nah. A few hits of Jet and some kinda booze will do him fine. 

Bumm Cumm lifted the plastic to his mouth and took a long draw. Years of experience made him all but immune to the shit taste and the burn that carried all down to his lungs. He held the hit, held it until he felt adrenaline crawl up his throat, dancing the line of too much. With a long sigh, he blew the chem out of his nose in dual streams of smoke. The high swelled in his head, and he gripped the edge of the seat with his spare hand, briefly afraid he’d float away. Another careful breath and the rush settled into a heady euphoria between his ears.

“That guy you knew got me hired by the Mojave Express. Said I worked as a runner for caravans or something, that I would be great for the job.” He started.

Diane shook her own inhaler and he was immediately derailed from his train of thought. He watched with rapt attention as the Jet blurred a red arc. The cannister reflected the light from a distant bonfire and created the illusion of being filled with fire. He wondered if it was possible to set the chem on fire inside like that. Waste of good Jet, though.

“Told you I could get you in,” Diane said on the exhale. Right, he was talking.

“Shouldn’t’ve doubted ya. They were itching for fresh Couriers. I told them I could run from Red Rock to the 188 without stopping and they hired me on the spot. Did a buncha little jobs, then I get a big one. Shit got crazy. I get this job to carry a box from the border Outpost all the way up to Vegas, fast as I can. The money is  _ real _ good so I take it. I check in at Primm, get ambushed outside Goodsprings. Turns out the fuckin box belongs to the guy running Vegas and the head of the Chairmen decided to steal it to fuck with House. Roped Jessup and a couple of his guys into it, screwed them over, and put a bullet in my face!”   
  
Bumm Cumm paused to take another hit of Jet and calm down. As cool as the scar is, he’s still really fucking mad about his eye. And he _ knows _ he’ll get worked up about it if he doesn’t have something to encourage the Good feelings.

“That’s a real downer, man. How’d you survive that?”

“Is your eye okay?”

He blew out the haze after a few seconds.

“I’m gettin’ to it! I wake up ass naked in some Doctor’s shack with my face taped together. One of the Strip robots was around when I got shot and dragged me into Goodsprings. The bullet barely touched my brain, but broke my skull. Part of it got jammed in my eye so deep the doc says I’m lucky he could fix any of it. I've got a big dark spot on my left and everything gets doubled sometimes, but I can still see most stuff.”   
  
“Hey wait, you’re the Courier Mr. New Vegas keeps talking about?” Jack asked.

“That’s me. Spent a week in Goodsprings getting glued back together and then had to do the whole southern loop tracking Benny. If I knew who he was then, I woulda ran north and waited for him in Vegas. But I didn’t. No, I had to do shit for every settler and scav south of the 188 for information. I walked into a fuckin Legion ambush, punched out a blue Super Mutant, and talked a NCR dude out of splattering Jessup just so I could find out where the fucker lives. Getting  _ in _ to Vegas was another hassle, but I’m not gunna be scraping for caps any time soon. I tried to storm in and beat Benny’s face in at his own place, but he sent his goons after me and ran off. Lucky me, the fuckin’ Legion knows he’s heading to an old bunker they’re sitting on and they invite me over to deal with it for them. They wanted me to blow up House's shit and break my Courier contract, which  _ sucks _ but I needed to gut Benny more than the job. I ripped his fucking throat out in front of an audience!  They decide that means I'm working for them now, and start giving me runner jobs. Now I’m here.”

  
  


He punctuated his story with a long drag from the inhaler. Holding it in his chest, he waited until his lungs were on fire before breathing out. His heartbeat picked up and he swore he saw, as much as felt, the static rush in his face. 

“Sounds pretty crazy.”   
  
Looking over at Jack, he seemed far deeper into his high. Too deep for a better response.

“It was. Is.”

They spent a few minutes in a comfortable quiet, feeling out the rush. Time was lost on all involved, but a solid couple minutes passed before the silence became too much. Diane sat up with a look of intent. Bumm Cumm and Jack immediately turned their attention to her. With a wobble, she got to her feet and walked over to the radio on their beat up picnic table. She picked it up, cradled it to her chest, and walked back over to them. 

“It’s too quiet,” she said, and sat down next to Jack.

“You’re a genius, baby,” he replied, a big dopey grin on his face.

Bumm Cumm sucked on his jet and watched with blurry eyes as she turned it on and fiddled with the volume. He felt Nat King Cole’s sweet crooning in his bones and sighed along with a note from the song. Satisfied, Diane set the radio on the ground and made herself comfortable at Jack’s side. Bumm Cumm shamelessly watched them cuddle up, Jack petting his girl’s head, and his senses mixed up what he saw with what he felt. In the dizzy euphoria, he felt Jack’s hand in his hair, Diane’s cheek against his shoulder. It had been weeks since he’d gotten laid, not counting the blowie he’d given that ex-Khan sniper in Novac. Before he could get too irritated and horny, Bumm Cumm groped around for his duffel. He’d snagged an unopened bottle of vodka from the Lucky 38 the first time he’d been let in and kept it bundled up in his bag. It was pretty hard to focus on what he was touching, but after some rifling he felt glass and tugged it loose from the shirt it was wrapped in. With tremoring fingers, he opened the bottle and downed a mouthful.

When he lowered the bottle from his face, Jack called his attention.

“You gunna share that with your pals?”   
  
“Yeah, but I ain’t gettin’ up.”

“It’s got a cap, roll it over.”

Bumm Cumm didn’t have any better ideas, so he took the suggestion. However, he made the mistake of taking another swig first. Screwing the lid back on became an issue, ‘cause suddenly he was seeing three bottles. Closing his left eye reduced the number to two. But even then, he has big,  _ shaky _ hands that have taken a lot of beatings and given even more. So it took a few tries to get the cap. Once he was sure it wouldn't leak, Bumm Cumm placed it on the ground and gave it a shove.

With a gentle  _ tink _ the vodka bumped into the lounge chair Diane and Jack laid on. 

"Hey, hey, watch this," Jack said, and slid his legs off the side of the chair. After batting the bottle around with his toes, Jack managed to get a grip between the arches of his feet. He lifted it with his legs, stuck his tongue out for concentration, and got it high enough for Diane to reach.

"Hah! Didn't even have to get up!"

Bumm Cumm was impressed. 

"Now you gotta figure out how to hold Jet like that."

"I don't think I can bend enough."

Jack curled one of his knees in, grabbed his foot, and pulled it towards his face.

"Ow. Ow. Nope."

Diane giggled at his attempts and patted his leg sympathetically. 

"You can work on it, for next time Bumm is here."

"Yeah, Jack, better have something to impress me with."

Jack threw his empty Jet canister at him.

"You try it, dickhead!"

Bumm Cumm and Diane laughed at him again, giddy from their chems.

"In these tight pants? Not gunna happen."

Diane remembered the vodka in her hands. She and Jack took shots of it a few times before she rolled it over to Bumm Cumm, clearly appreciating the smooth prewar alcohol. He took another swig and made a joke about them stealing it, but passed it back anyways. Jack entertained them with a limerick Jerry told him, and the topic quickly became Khan gossip. They laughed at each other and their Khan friends and traded the drink until somebody's aim finally suffered enough that it rolled out of reach. Thoroughly sloshed and relaxed, Bumm Cumm got hit with a wave of exhaustion that he knew he couldn't fight. He lost track of whatever his friends were talking about, and fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Bumm Cumm woke up with a Khan blanket tucked childishly under his chin and feeling like he'd been tackled by a deathclaw. His body ached, his head throbbed, the sun was stabbing through his eyelids,  _ and _ he had withdrawal tremors. He did NOT want to be conscious. Unfortunately going back to sleep wasn't an option, and he knew it. Bumm Cumm tugged the blanket over his face to ward off the sun and groped blindly for his boots. Sitting up made his head spin but thankfully he wasn't nauseous. He got his boots on, grabbed his bag, and stumbled off to see if his friends were awake. 

He found them in Jack's lab, which was blissfully darker than outside. Bumm Cumm pulled the blanket off his head, though he still had to squint through his headache.

"Look who finally woke up!" Jack greeted, looking up from his work.

"Finally?" he asked, and looked down at the time on his Pipboy. 13:08. "Damn."

"How long was it since you last slept?" 

"Couple days ago. Got another thing to deliver before tonight, so I’ve gotta get moving.” he turned to Diane. “How do your runners get around the fringe Fiends? I tossed my helmet when I got hired by the Express, like a fucking dumbass.”

“They won’t recognize you?”

“No, most of the people I ran with are dead or left. I can get through Cook-Cook’s territory without being seen, but I’ve only been to the Vault a few times and I was with people. I don’t even know who hangs around outside anymore, Lorenzo got splattered by the NCR right before I left. How do your guys do it?”

“They generally leave us alone. Carrying a gun would probably help."

Bumm Cumm sat on one of the benches and started stretching.

"I've got a dinged up pistol and a handful of bullets. Don't think that will do much for me, even if I could hit what I was aiming at."

Diane thought for a second, chewing on her lip.

"You said you're going into the Vault?"

"Yeah."

"Anders isn't back yet, and Motor-Runner is expecting a shipment. If you make the run for us, I'll lend you a Khan vest."

Bumm Cumm liked the sound of that.

"That’d be great. Do you need me to bring back their caps?"

"Nah, he's gotta turn the chems around first. Bring the vest back when you come up here next, and don't wear it around like you earned it."

"Gotcha. You're the best."

"I know."

He spent a few more minutes stretching, eating whatever food he had in his bag, and buying fresh needles off Jack. Once he was fully awake and ready to head off, he prepped his  _ (sweet, amazing, beloved) _ Psycho. The ache in his skull and his arms was getting unbearable, his temper would be next to go, but he knew he had to get Business done before taking his hit or he'd forget the important stuff.

Diane got up to pack a briefcase for the Fiends and Bumm Cumm ran fingers over his arm. This last run is gunna  _ suck _ , he'll be limping back to Freeside for sure, but he's got a job to do and a Legionary to schmooze. He'll take those fancy coins of theirs and spend them on some R&R afterwards. With enough chems in his system he can make it to Vault 3 on time, and take his time getting back to the Wrangler to meet Vulpes. No problem. He just needs to pump himself full of his favorite chem and-  _ yeeaaaaah _ . The freshly sharpened needle slid in and out of his skin with little issue, and Bumm Cumm tipped his head back to feel out the rush. 

Things got a little blurry for Bumm Cumm around then.

He remembers saying something to his friends, but he can’t remember what. Nor can he remember which of the two he thanked with a kiss full on the mouth. Diane punched him, but she would have done that either way. He had picked up his bag and the briefcase, put on the blackout goggles to spare his bad eye. Shortly after, he was sprinting full-speed down the canyon trail.

____________________

The problem with Psycho is that it makes every idea feel like a fucking fantastic one.

Even something as simple as “run to Vault 3 as fast as you can” gets messed up by the fact that anything from taking a senselessly winding route to pissing your name backwards across a derelict building counts as a Great Idea. His initial plan was to put on the Khan jacket and his old overalls, run straight through Cook-Cook's territory and hope he didn't get shot. The plan he ended up following was the one he came up with immediately after wondering how Violet’s dogs were doing. Step one: change clothes. Getting out of tight leather pants in the midday heat was easier said than done, but well worth the effort. His old overalls only had one functioning strap and ended at his knees. Not great for fending off fists, knives, or the sun, but great for fending off heatstroke. Step two: run an hour in the wrong direction. Violet hung around the southern edges of Cook-Cook’s territory, far enough that her dogs didn’t eat his crew but close enough that her dogs could eat what they brought back. Step three: pet as many dogs as he can before Violet chases him off. There’s no step four because he got bored of planning after he got to the ‘dogs’ part. 

Bumm Cumm slowed to a walking pace once he spotted the ruins that the Fiends occupy. He tugged at the Khan jacket awkwardly. Whoever it belonged to was a lot smaller than him, and it chafed under his arms and around his neck. Distant gunfire rang in the stifling hot air, and the dirt under his boots began to feel familiar. Bumm Cumm had spent the better part of five years drifting around these ruins. He may have lived most of those years in a chemed-up haze of fear and starvation, but part of him considered it home nonetheless. Leaving had been hard. If it weren’t for Jack and Diane pulling some strings to get him a job with the Express, he’d probably still be begging for Cook-Cook’s scraps. Or rotting in the dirt. 

Truth is, he probably would be dead. He hadn’t seen any of the other kids he joined up with in years, Toni dumped him to go clean up, and Cook-Cook had been eyeing him way too much for comfort. If he didn’t get shot taking down a caravan, another Fiend would have killed him or he’d have ODed alone in his dumpster. Again. He needed a new home and when Bumm Cumm’s gut said ‘move on’, he listened.

Boy, did he miss Violet’s dogs though.

The trailers that made up Violet’s little fortress gleamed like a beacon in the sun. Bumm Cumm kept his eyes North, watching for any of Cook-Cook’s gang, and let his feet take him. The reflective metal made every step closer feel like he was walking into a furnace. As he trudged closer, he heard the dogs before he smelled them, and smelled them before he saw them. By the time he could see the dogs, the dogs had seen him. Once one started barking, the rest followed, and soon the whole place shook with the sound.

“WHO IS IT, GIRL?!” shrieked a familiar voice, and Bumm Cumm couldn’t help but grin. A small part of him feared that some NCR schmuck would take her out one of these days. 

Finally at the entrance, one of the dogs bolted towards him. Bumm Cumm planted his feet and braced for impact. The huge, mangy dog jumped up at him and he went to work scratching and patting it with equal enthusiasm.

“Somebody missed me!” he cooed, and leaned to let the dog lick his face. A second dog ran up to him, and then a third. Soon he was busy trying to get his hands on all his little buddies. Over the years, he had spent so many hours sneaking over here to do exactly this. 

**_BANG!_ **

Bumm Cumm yelped and jumped back as a bullet hit the ground a foot away from him. Violet stood on top of her makeshift walls with her rifle pointed directly at him.   
  
“YOU JOIN THE KHANS, STALKER?!” she shouted down at him. Bumm Cumm was so rattled that it took him a second to remember he was wearing one of their leather vests. He put his hands up in surrender, much to the dismay of the dogs pawing and whining at his feet.

“NO!” he yelled back and then, “I GOTTA MEET WITH MOTOR-RUNNER, DON’T SHOOT ME!”

Violet lowered her gun and then disappeared behind the wall. Bumm Cumm took the opportunity to pet her dogs real fast, but was prepared to start running if he had to. Violet had nicknamed him ‘Stalker’ after the third or fourth time he’d hid in her trailers to get fucked up on med-x and play with her dogs. They were unfriendly to most people, but for some reason they got along fine with him. Maybe it was ‘cause he grew up with herding dogs? Maybe ‘cause he growled right back at them? He had no idea. Violet had begrudgingly allowed him to lurk most days, but kept the hunting rifle loaded after one very foolish attempt at stealing a puppy. 

Violet didnt command the dogs to attack him, nor did she shoot at him. In fact, she didn’t reappear at all. Bumm Cumm rolled around with the dogs and got slobber all over his face, briefly in his own personal heaven. Distant gunfire and the deep shadow he lay in reminded him that he had to keep moving, though. As much as he’d rather lay here and trade “aroorooroos” with the mutts all day and night. It took a lot of willpower, but he grabbed his stuff and pointed himself towards the heart of Fiend territory.

  
  


\----------

Before he was Bumm Cumm, he was a boy too big for the small farming commune he grew up in. Tall and strong and itching for things he didn’t have names for. Trapped in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to look forward to but the next raid, it didn’t take much to convince him to leave. The bitter taste of Jet and stories of a city that lit up the sky had him following a couple older kids deeper into the Mojave. It took him years to even see the gates. Instead, he fell headfirst into addictions he hadn’t known existed, finding a thrill in the next best thing to real adventure. The Fiends offered him everything he never had and more, but on the condition that he had to fight tooth and nail for the right to survive. He thrived in the violence, survived on murder and banditry, found someone he loved, who loved him, who loved to taste death in a needle side by side. 

Bumm Cumm did not leave the Fiends because he wanted to. Bumm Cumm left because Cook-Cook was threatened by him, and Cook-Cook does unspeakable things to threats. He left because he was too weak to clean up for Toni, to keep his lover of nearly three years by his side. He left because he tasted death alone again and again and again until waking up in his own bile became the norm. Because he missed falling asleep surrounded by people he could trust. Because all of his friends were dead.

__________

Eyes watched him from the shadows of the ruins. He could feel it on the back of his neck, and he’d catch glimpses of movement from the corner of his good eye. He was far enough away from the main roads that nobody would mistake him for a caravan, but he knew for a fact that Khans weren’t exempt from attacks. Especially one carrying a briefcase full of chems. Technically, they were told not to go after the Runners. Pissing off the Khans would mean losing their biggest supplier. But this far from the Vault meant the supply chain got weak, and Fiends got desperate. If you weren’t sucking up to one of the big hitters, you were getting everything second-hand, maybe third-hand. The webs of chem deals was the fabric that kept the Fiends together, after all. 

Motor-Runner had the money to throw around for a big haul, like the one Bumm Cumm carried now. He sells it to his buddies, the ones in the Vault, Cook-Cook, Driver Nephi, Violet, etc. The ones who do what he says and have the means to distribute it. Everyone else buys it from them, or from someone else who bought it from them. Technically  _ anybody  _ could arrange a deal with the Khans or the Omertas, anybody could make their own chems, but nobody else could keep hold of enough caps to guarantee a regular supply. So, Motor-Runner called the shots. 

A few years ago, Bumm Cumm got it into his head that he would make the run up to Khan territory himself. Cook-Cook was low on Med-X and Bumm Cumm wasn’t willing to wait for another shipment to filter its way to him. The Khans hadn’t been in Red Rock for long, and very few Fiends knew the way up. He took the chance, and was lucky enough to stumble onto one of the trails that wasn’t teeming with cazadores. He met Diane and Jack that day, bought a handful of Psycho to tide him over, and got his name in the Fiend rumor mill.

A month later, he was invited to visit the Vault. And what an experience that was.

“I’ve never seen  _ you  _ before.”   
  
Bumm Cumm didn’t stop walking, but turned his head to find the voice. A Fiend stood in the blind spot of his left eye, leaning against a sunbleached wall with a cigarette in his mouth and a shotgun cradled in his arms. The bighorner skull on his head meant that he is a full-fledged member. The painted symbols and strings of teeth on the helmet meant that he is a notoriously  _ lethal _ member. His eyes darted to the briefcase and Bumm Cumm kicked into high alert.

“Anders is out on another job,” he said casually, and walked past. The second he was out of sight, Bumm Cumm’s senses strained to keep alert. He hardly breathed so he could listen for footsteps. A shotgun to the back was not a fun way to go. Thankfully, the guy didn't follow.

The west entrance wasn’t the most popular way into Fiend territory. Bumm Cumm only spotted one or two other people as he made his way to the door. All the excitement was on the other side, after all. Nobody stopped him from pushing open the bent and screechy metal door. The smell of burning tires and cooked meat immediately consumed his sense of smell. The walled territory around the Vault kept the breeze out, trapping the heat and stench inside. The air was thick with smoke from dozens of fires, and voices bounced off the concrete ruins. Bumm Cumm followed the road, eyeing each shitty ruin in case anybody mistook him for prey. 

He could feel eyes on him, more than only the ones he saw, but nobody bothered him. Good. There was a group making a lot of noise, but they had a bighorner roasting over a pile of real wood and someone was scraping the brains out of its skull. No doubt they’d be busy celebrating their newest member for a while. Maybe they’d even buy some of the chems he was carrying. Feeling relatively safe, Bumm Cumm picked up the pace. The Vault door was cracked open enough for one person to slide through. So he did.

“ _ Hey! _ The fuck do you want?!”

Bumm Cumm lifted the briefcase before he even saw who snapped at him. His eyes adjusted to the dim entrance lighting and he saw a woman scowling down a laser rifle at him.

“Got deliveries for Motor-Runner.”

“I’ve never seen you before, who the fuck are you?”

Oh shit. He didn’t want to say ‘Bumm Cumm’ in case somebody remembered him. People left the Fiends all the time, but leaving to join another gang? And then  _ coming back _ ? Bad look. What the fuck was he supposed to say, then? Wait, what had Vulpes called him-

“Uh… Mongrel.” 

“Open the box.”

Bumm Cumm flipped the latches and showed her that it was full of chems, as promised.

“‘Kay, fine. You know where you’re going?”

Kind of. He remembers taking a lot of rights, and a long set of stairs down.

“Yeah.”

She let him pass, and Bumm Cumm walked into the main Vault. The first thing he noticed was the dramatic change in temperature. Safe from the sun and deep underground, it was always better than outside. Add to the fact that the Vaults had some kind of fan system, and it was blissfully cold inside. He pressed a sweaty palm against the concrete and was struck by a powerful urge to curl up in front of a vent. The one time he’d been here before, he was given some kind of psychedelic and debated with a girl about if the center of the earth was hot or cold. They never came to a conclusion, because fucking was a far better use of their time, but he was still pretty convinced that the Vault proved him right.

Bumm Cumm stripped off the Khan jacket and stuffed it in his duffel. He returned to running his hand along the wall, no doubt leaving a sweaty smear to follow. A few right turns from the entrance brought him to the stairs leading down, and every step down made more goosebumps raise on his bare skin. Down here, the concrete walls became metal and the room narrowed to a single hallway. Motor-Runner hung around down here most days, only coming out when the Vault door was shut tight. He’d been more of a team player a few years ago, but the NCR really had it out for him these days. Bumm Cumm’s footsteps were loud. There was a guard at the end of the hallway and he had his Incinerator primed before Bumm Cumm even saw him. He held up the briefcase and the guy immediately backed down. 

Motor-Runner was sitting on his little throne with his dogs at his side. Prized spawn of Violetta, no doubt. The dogs growled at him as he approached, but a quick show of teeth had them stopping real fast.

“Fuckin’ finally!” Motor-Runner said, his eyes having landed on the chems. He looked up at Bumm Cumm’s face. “Who the fuck are you? You don’t look like a Khan.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

“Mongrel. I’m not a Khan, just a Courier doing favors. Got a holodisk for you, too.”

He handed over the briefcase, and then dug through his bag for the holodisk that Vulpes gave him. Motor-Runner checked the contents and made a noise of satisfaction. Then he looked at Bumm Cumm. Took a long look. Bumm Cumm turned it over, and Motor-Runner squinted at his hand.   
  
“Wait, aren’t you one of Cook-Cook’s boys? I know you.”

Fuck. So he did recognize him.   
  
“Yeah. I’ve done runs to Red Rock before. Got invited here two or three times.”

“Then why the fuck are you doing favors for the Legion? Coming here in a Khan getup? You a fucking Fiend or not?”

Alarms started blaring in Bumm Cumm’s head. This was bad. This was a bad idea. If Motor-Runner decided to gut him for switching teams, he was a goner. Of course the fucker recognized him, he’s never exactly blended in. He racked his brain for everything he knew about the guy and tried to come up with a good excuse. Fuck, fuck, he shoulda thought of this  _ before _ walking in here. It was hard to remember anything when his whole head spun from Psycho adrenaline. Wait- he’s got it.

“Khans and Legion hate the NCR, too. Helping them helps us. I know where I stand, man.”

Motor-Runner mulled on that, looking pensive.

“Do you know what this holodisk is?”

The question made Bumm Cumm relax. Crisis averted.

“No. Just got told to deliver it.”

Motor-Runner grinned, showing off a few missing teeth.

“Camp McCarran patrol routes for the next three weeks. They won’t even see us coming, give 'em a nice reminder whose turf they’re on.”

That explains why he had to rush. Fuck, the NCR would kill him if they found out. Not that he particularly  _ cares _ , but the threat was still there. Whatever, it’s not like they’d hunt him down. He’s just the messenger. 

“I look forward to it.”

That seemed to satisfy Motor-Runner, who turned to put the holodisk into the closest terminal. Bumm Cumm took the opportunity to get the fuck out while he could. Well… get the fuck out of Motor-Runner’s sight. He wasn’t in a rush to go back out into the heat again. All he had to do was work himself into a group, give out a few cigs, and nobody would ask what he was doing in here. There was a good hour or two until the sun set, and he had no interest in leaving the cold Vault until then. He might have considered staying the night if there wasn’t an incredibly high risk of his belongings disappearing in his sleep.

Bumm Cumm made his way back up to the common area of the Vault, where all the lucky bastards that Motor-Runner favored got to hang around. He fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes and Benny’s lighter from his duffel. The sweet burn of the cig mixed with the psycho still rolling through his system and made his head feel light as a feather. He sucked on the tube and meandered into the central room. It had a name, he could read the sign, but he had no idea what “re-creation” had to do with pool or movies. Maybe the Vaulties moved shit around and didn’t bother to change the sign. Well, whatever it meant, the room was full of games and stuff now. They even had a full set of pool balls. The holodisk projector was everyone’s favorite, though. The second time he’d been to the Vault, he and Toni had joined in watching Vault-Tec’s absurd SPECIAL guides and laughed to tears. 

He peeked into the room and saw that most of the floor space was occupied. They were watching a PreWar movie he didn’t recognize. The room was dead quiet and he wanted to talk. So he meandered over to the other doors, looking for a group to mingle with. Instead he found a woman with a crowbar jammed into a locked cabinet.   
  


“Hey! Big guy! C’mere!!”

Bumm Cumm walked over and tried to figure out what she was doing. No doubt she wanted to borrow his size for something. He’d spent most of his younger years reaching, lifting, dragging everything too tough for the normal sized people he grew up with. 

“The lock on this is broken. Can you force it open? I’ll let you have dibs on some of the chems.”

The girl looked up at him with big brown eyes and a pleading smile that he rather liked being directed at him. Bumm Cumm shrugged and took hold of the crowbar. There wasn’t a way to get good leverage, but the metal door looked pretty thin. He bet it would bend with enough force. The angle was weird, but it didn’t bother him. He gripped the crowbar with both hands and  _ pushed _ . The metal made an awful screeching noise and the door warped. Bumm Cumm grunted and threw his weight into it.

“Wait wait, a little lower,” the woman said, and guided his arm. Her hand ran along his forearm, sending tingles across his skin, in order to move the head of the crowbar closer to the lock. He shoved hard and POP! The cabinet door broke open with a spark.

“FUCK YES!” she shouted, and then turned to Bumm Cumm with a grin “Thanks for letting me use your muscles, big guy! Let’s see what we’ve got!”

Bumm Cumm matched the grin, the praise flooding him with all kinds of good feelings. 

“Any time,” he replied, hoping she might have  _ other  _ uses for him.

The cabinet was full of little orange bottles full of pills and a big brown one with liquid in it. He grabbed one of them and read the label.  _ Omeprazole. _ He’d never heard of that one. He looked at another.  _ Ondansetron. _ Not that one either. 

“Do you know what these do?” he asked the woman, who was scooping them all into a pillowcase.

“Dunno, can you read them?”

He stumbled over the pronunciation, and she seemed as clueless as him. The stupid bottles didn’t even say what they were for. Just how often to take them. 

“Let’s show Benji, he knows a lot of this shit.” Her eyes danced across him, lingering on all the areas not covered by his frayed overalls. 

“I’m Ava, by the way.”

“Bumm Cumm.”

She giggled at the name, but didn’t make another comment, just scooped up her bag full of drugs and headed out with purpose in her step. Bumm Cumm followed close behind, relighting his cig. He took the opportunity to check her out, enjoying the view he had from a few steps behind. Ava had freckles across her back, hardly visible against her tanned skin, and thighs that made his mouth water. The ragged shirt and shorts she wore looked easy to remove. He would very much like to.

Benji was an interesting dude. He had a list of chems tattooed across his chest, neatly labelled by what kind of fun they were and what not to mix them with. Apparently he had studied with an OSI dropout a few years back. He got to live the lucky Vault life because he was one of the few people who knew what a lot of the prewar drugs did. He sifted through Ava’s finds and sorted out the lame stuff. Most of what Bumm Cumm had looked at wasn’t fun, but he didn’t really give a shit. He just wanted people to talk to. Giving out cigarettes and sticking by Ava did the trick, and he endeared himself to her little group in no time. None of them hung with Cook-Cook, or really any of the outside Fiends, so he pretended he still ran with them and that was that. 

“Try this one, Bumm Cumm.”

Ava, who had made herself comfortable on Bumm Cumm’s lap, held out two little pills from a bottle that Benji hadn’t recognized. She and a few others decided that the best way to test the mystery pills was to take them. Bumm Cumm wasn’t thrilled about the idea, he was perfectly content riding the dregs of his Psycho high, but he was also very bad at saying no to attractive people. And boy. Ava was soft in all the right places and smiled up at him so expectantly. How was he supposed to say no?

“Yeah, okay.” he said weakly, and was rewarded by Ava putting the pills directly into his mouth. The way her fingertips slid against his bottom lip made his skin hot. She passed him the cup she’d washed hers down with, and he was startled by how cold the water in it was.

“Let me know what it does,” she said, stealing another of his cigs and leaning back against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and tried not to think too hard (heh) about the chance he was getting laid tonight.

“Need a light for that?”

Ava nodded so he dug through his bag to find Benny’s lighter. He flicked it a few times until he got a flame, and lit her cigarette. She looked up at him through her lashes as she sucked on it, and then let the smoke roll slowly out of her mouth. He breathed in deep and she smiled.

“Thanks.”

“No prob’, gorgeous.”

She rolled her eyes, but the rest of her looked bashful. Yeah, he's smooth as fuck. Bumm Cumm watched her lips wrap around the cigarette again. He moved the hand on her hip, slipping it just under her shirt. Ava kept her eyes on him, perfectly fine with his move. 

"That's a pretty cool lighter."

"I stole it from the guy who-"

A horrible tingling static took over his brain and stopped him mid sentence. Bumm Cumm clenched his eyes closed and grimaced through it. Coming back to his senses and opening his eyes, he saw Ava watching him with concern.

"You alright?"

"Am now. Uh- right, I stole this from the guy who shot me in the face. Chased him down for weeks and cut him to pieces in front of a whole crowd."

Ava took another drag of the cigarette, and his eyes fell to her mouth once again. 

He blacked out before she exhaled.

____________________

Where is he? Is he dreaming? Wasn’t he supposed to do something?

Bumm Cumm stared at his feet, watching them walk, and he fought to catch the thoughts that slipped through his fingers. Where was he going? Fuck, he’s so tired...

____________________

Bumm Cumm woke up on a mattress. He fought to open his eyes, feeling so very comfortable. The room he was in was small and mostly dark. There was another bed across from him, which was covered in empty Jet Canisters. The rounded metal walls and freezing cold air told him he was still in the Vault. How the hell did he get here? What did he  _ take? _ Bumm Cumm sat up and waited for his head to stop spinning before he tried to stand. His boots were still on, his Pipboy on his arm, and his duffel was on the floor by the bed. If that isn’t a fucking miracle…

He put the single functioning strap of his overalls back onto his shoulder and started towards the door. His muscles trembled and his stomach growled loudly. He hadn’t eaten a full meal in way too long, but he had gone longer with less. When he reached for the door, his hands shook so much he could hardly grip the handle. Alright, alright, fine, he’ll eat first. Unfortunately all he had left was strips of salted meats and a bag of 200 year old chips. Sitting back down, he pulled his duffel onto his legs and dug around for his jerky. The metal tin he kept it in had pictures of candy on it, but he’d filled it with table salt and a bunch of meat he’d dried a while back. 

Once he pried the lid off, he was left staring at his options. Bumm Cumm tried to make the most of whatever he killed, so he had scraps of a lot of different wasteland creatures. He wrapped the jerky in a bit of leather belonging to the creature it came from, so he could recognize and avoid the shit meat until he was desperate. This was with one exception: he had two brahmin leather bundles, but only one was brahmin. He had no interest in making leather from what the other meat came from. His mouth watered at the thought, and his stomach growled again in agreement. Bumm Cumm took out the gecko bundle as well. It isn’t anywhere near as tasty, but is a much fattier meat. The average Mojave Wastelander is mostly sinew, after all, and he knew it wasn’t enough to sustain him. He tried to pace his eating so he wouldn’t get a cramp, but the second he got a taste his self control disappeared and he gulped down strip after strip. By the time he was done, all that was left was molerat. He washed down his meal with a bottle of warm, dirty water and pounded his chest to force the last of his rushed meal down. It wasn’t nearly enough, but there was fuckall he could do about it until he got to friendlier territory. 

He was still shaky when he stood, but the itch of panic was gone. When he gets to Freeside, he’s going to gorge himself. Fuck. He always forgets how much Psycho kills his appetite until he’s withdrawing and his body remembers how hungry he is. It’s not bad when you’re a Fiend, food is scarce and aggression necessary to get it, but it’s a lot less fun when you’re spending your whole day running courier jobs. Bumm Cumm stretched out and did one last sweep of the room to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. He stopped in front of one of the dressers against the wall. One of the drawers was open, and gave him a glimpse of blue. He pulled the drawer all the way open, and discovered a pair of intact Vault suits with a bright yellow 3 on the back. Oh,  _ fuck yes _ . He hadn’t even thought about getting suits for Sarah. Maybe getting knocked out wasn’t such a waste after all.

Bumm Cumm swung his bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the room. The hallway was empty, which was relieving. He didn’t want to run into Ava or her buddies and deal with whatever the fuck had happened. Sure, Ava’s cute, but he had shit to do and getting hung up on Fiends is exactly what he was trying to get away from. A glance at his Pipboy told him it was early in the morning. Good, nobody will be awake. If he was quick, he could get to the Strip within a few hours, and screw around until he gets the signal to meet Vulpes. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Please present your passport or submit to a credit check.”   
  
“I  _ live here _ !” Bumm Cumm whined at the Securitron. He dug through his bag, looking for his money. He found a wad of NCR dollars and a couple of Legion coins, but not his caps. Panic started to set in. He stood at the gate to the Strip in his usual leather attire, looking like himself, but the fucking robots wouldn’t let him in unless he proved himself like any other dreg from the streets. He worked for House, dammit, he shouldn’t have this problem! Sure, House was pissed at him and thought he was still trying to win over the Boomers, but the robots didn’t know that! He only wants to take a hot shower and talk to Sarah!

“Where the  _ fuck _ are my caps??” he growled, and dumped out his bag onto the ground by his feet. The Securitrons were unbothered by the clatter. Bumm Cumm squatted down and sifted through his things. Spare shirt, cooking pot, lube, bottle of sarsaparilla, handful of 10mm rounds, machete, water, cigarettes, god why did he have so much shit!? He shook out his thin blanket and tossed everything else back into his bag. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!! His caps were gone!  _ All  _ his fucking caps! Most of it he even  _ worked for!! _ Bumm Cumm kicked his power fist in a rage. It arced through the air and he regretted the outburst before it even hit the ground. That was one of the best purchases he’d ever made and if it was broken he couldn’t get it fixed with a couple NCR 5’s.

He gripped the long half of his hair and tried not to have a complete meltdown. Running his fingers through it sometimes helped him calm down, but it wasn’t doing him much good now. He grit his teeth and stuffed his belongings back into his bag. Somebody in the Vault stole his caps while he was out, he fucking knew it. If he ever figured out who it was he’d crush their  _ fucking skull _ , he’d make them wish they’d never even looked at him,  _ he’d fucking- _

A figure darted out from an alley, snagged his power fist, and kept running.

“ **MOTHERFUCKER!!** ” 

Bumm Cumm swung his duffelbag over his shoulder and broke out into a sprint. The thief took a right into the Freeside ruins, no doubt hoping to lose him. Unfortunately for the thief, Bumm Cumm ran for a living. And he’s  _ pissed _ . He chased the thief down a side road, gaining on them with every footfall. His breathing was even, his rhythm focused, but Bumm Cumm was seeing red. The thief, a young man by the look of him, started to tire fast. He panted and barely cleared the fallen pole he jumped over. Bumm Cumm hurdled over it with ease, and landed almost within reach. The thief glanced over his shoulder and his face morphed into terror. 

“ _ Shit! _ ” he wheezed, and took another sharp turn. Bumm Cumm grabbed his arm at the last second, and yanked him to a stop. They collided with each other, and the momentum sent them rolling. 

Bumm Cumm scrambled up first, and threw himself onto the thief.

“Bad move, dipshit!” he snarled. The thief twisted and kicked, but Bumm Cumm dug his knee into the inside of his thigh and threw his weight onto it. He ripped the Power Fist out of the other guy’s hand and got punched in the face. Bumm Cumm reeled and the thief tried to scramble away. He got his hand into the Power Fist and dragged the thief back. 

“STOP MOVING!”

“ _ Oh fuck! Oh god! _ ” the thief cried, and tried to throw another punch. Bumm Cumm batted it away, primed his Fist, and crushed the thief’s skull against the pavement.

Sitting back on his haunches, Bumm Cumm heaved his breaths, trying to catch his wind. His power fist dripped with gore and his shirt hadn’t been spared the spray. He looked down at what was left of the thief and grimaced. There wasn’t much face to identify. Maybe that was a bit excessive.

“Shouldn’t’a fucked with me,” Bumm Cumm muttered. 

Movement from his periphery made him look up. A few Locals scattered when his eyes landed on them. Good. Maybe they’ll learn to treat him with some fucking respect. Bumm Cumm glanced around him for a dark corner to go through this dumbass’s pockets. There was a nice trash-filled alley to his left that would be perfect. He stood, grabbed the corpse’s ankles, and dragged him out of sight. 

Despite the many pockets of the thief’s cargo pants, most were empty. He found a staggering 15 caps, a blunt shiv, and a mostly empty syringe of med-x. Bumm Cumm tossed the caps angrily into his bag. What a waste of effort.

Bumm Cumm’s stomach growled. He looked down at the body beneath him, his stomach growled louder, and suddenly his mouth felt uncomfortably empty. He shouldn’t.  _ But he wants to. _ There’s too many people close by.  _ But he wants to. _ He can buy food at the Wrangler. _ But he wants to. He wants to.  _ **_He wants to._ **

He pulled a knife out of his bag and glanced around again. Nobody was watching him. He pushed the thief's shirt up and sunk his knife into pectoral muscle.  _ Just a litte, _ he told himself, and cut away at still-warm flesh. Another nervous glance around, and he stuffed the raw meat into his mouth. Sinking his teeth into it caused a dark curl of pleasure in his chest, and his hands went to work getting more before he even swallowed. The second bite was heaven, the third ecstasy. He immediately lost control. His hands couldn't move fast enough, cutting bloody chunks of the corpse and he gobbled it down without even chewing. His stomach gurgled approvingly as he filled himself up for the first time in days. 

Bumm Cumm choked down the last piece he could fit. His hands trembled, he wanted  _ more _ , but he was afraid of throwing up. He glanced around, the rock of paranoia and guilt settling next to his overfilled stomach. He had to get out of here. Blood dripped off his hands and his face. He wiped it off on his meal's shirt and ran off. No doubt the carrion animals would get to the corpse before anybody saw what he did. 

_ Fuck, he was normally so careful. Today is a bad day. A very bad day. If he got caught he was ruined. Fuck and he was out of caps. Holy shit. Oh fuck. _

Starting to panic, Bumm Cumm fumbled through his bag and found his cigarettes and a canister of Jet. He took a long huff of the chem to calm his nerves and then lit a cig with shaking hands. His lungs burned, his head swam, and his stomach was full. The mix pulled him out of his head and into his body. His thoughts slowed and fell apart before they finished. He's okay. He's okay. He's going to go to the Wrangler and get drunk until he's ready to blackout or Vulpes shows up.

__________

The Garrets greeted him pleasantly, and didn't have a problem accepting NCR money. He'd spent a couple weeks doing odd jobs for them when he was on the hunt for Benny, so they even gave him a discount on the corner room. Finishing off the rest of his jet and throwing back a few shots had Bumm Cumm back to normal in no time. He traded a few nasty remarks with the ghoul entertainer, made an NCR girl blush, and mixed his intoxicants expertly to give him a warm, euphoric haze. Things were going to be  _ fine _ . He wasn't going to get caught, he'd make up the lost money, get back onto the Strip, and the world would be his again.

Bumm Cumm turned to his Pipboy and switched the radio to the Legionary channel.

_ The radroach nest has a fresh kill. _

_ Only one eye watches the sun. _

_ Reports of a stray mongrel outside town. _

There it is! That's the signal he was looking for. Vulpes must be on his way. Bumm Cumm ran a hand through his hair and watched the table closest to the door. The blonde crier was flirting with one of the Locals. If he wasn't too drunk to get it up after his business with Vulpes, he may see if she's still available. Going to Gomorrah would have been his first choice, but that wasn't on the table anymore.

Before his thoughts could dwell on that any longer, the door opened. Bumm Cumm's eyes immediately went to the figure that entered. A man in a familiar brown suit and hat walked in, bought a drink from the bar, and then scanned the room. Their eyes met, and Vulpes made his way to the table.

"I see you've been here a while," the Legionary said, and took a sip of his drink.

Bumm Cumm shoved the chair across from him with his foot, inviting the man to join him. Vulpes sat down, relaxed into the chair, and took another sip.

"Been runnin' for days, figured I'd take it easy until you showed up."

"And did you accomplish what I asked?"

He stretched languidly in his chair and raked a hand through his hair. Vulpes's unblinking gaze didn't slip his notice.

"Sure did," he said casually. "Karl is a real charmer. That a job requirement?" 

Vulpes's gaze turned into a glare.

"Perhaps his charm has more to do with who he's talking to," he sniped back. Bumm Cumm laughed a little louder than he should have, but he's buzzed and Vulpes is witty for such a serious guy. Vulpes pulled a bag of denarii from his pocket and tossed them on the table between them.

  
“Your payment.”   
  
Bumm Cumm dropped them into his bag without counting them. He doubted that any attempts to haggle would do anything but piss Vulpes off. The man brought the glass to his mouth again, blue eyes still locked on.

"What'd you get?" Bumm Cumm asked pleasantly, nodding at Vulpes's drink.

"Rum and Nuka Cola." 

Bumm Cumm grinned at him.

"I thought you guys aren't allowed to drink?" his voice was low and conspiratorial. He knew not to blow the guy's cover, but he couldn't resist asking. Vulpes raised an eyebrow at him, looking amused.

"Are you going to report me?"

"Fuck no. I just didn't take you for a rule-breaker."

"It would be strange to come here and not buy alcohol." he said simply.

While that was true, there were more services offered at this fine place of business that Vulpes could make use of. To keep a low profile, of course.

"Unless you're here for a room. Or to get laid in one."

"I would rather drink."

"There's a table next to the bed you can put a cup on," Bumm Cumm informed him, amused with himself.

Vulpes didn't respond to that, just gave him a judgemental look and took another sip. Bumm Cumm grinned and watched him, watched Vulpes watch him. The silence lasted for longer than it should have, and he could swear that Vulpes's eyes never left him once. Maybe it was only the alcohol but the unbroken attention was making him a little hot. And thirsty.

"In two weeks, meet me back at my  _ 'home' _ . I will have another holotape for you to deliver. Do you understand?"

"I think so."

"Good. I-"

"Hold it," Bumm Cumm interrupted. "I'm getting a beer. Want anything?"

Vulpes didn't look thrilled about being interrupted, but he stopped nonetheless. 

"What?"

"Do you want another drink?"

Vulpes looked at his glass and considered it.

"Yes."

Bumm Cumm stood and made his way to the bar. It occurred to him that he really didn't have the money to spend on flirting with the Legionary, but it was too late now. He didn’t want Vulpes to know that he’d let himself get robbed blind, anyways. 

There was a line to get to the Garrets, it was that time of night, so he had to wait. Bumm Cumm thumbed the creases of an NCR bill impatiently, trying to flatten it out. He glanced back at Vulpes, and saw him down the rest of his drink. 

“What do you want, Bumm?” 

Francine was sterilizing a glass as she spoke, clearly in a rush.

“Beer and a rum & Nuka.”

She nodded and rinsed the glass she held. Turning back to his table again, Bumm Cumm caught Vulpes…  _ looking _ at him. Their eyes met, and Vulpes quickly averted his gaze. He stared a second longer, watching his mannerisms. Was he… did Vulpes just… check him out? He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, the guy’s a spy and clearly suspicious of him, but,  _ but _ … Vulpes is still a hot-blooded adult and the Legion has a reputation for man-on-man action. The mere chance was making Bumm Cumm boil in his clothes. He might not have to pay to get his rocks off after all. 

He paid Francine with the bill he had straightened and took the drinks back to their table. As Bumm Cumm sat, he bumped his knee with Vulpes’s, and scooted his chair forward to maintain the contact. Vulpes didn’t move away. Bumm Cumm popped the cap off his beer on the edge of the table and pocketed it. Pre-war beer tastes like dirt water but he has a buzz to maintain and doesn't want to get so drunk his dick stops working.

“What were you gunna say?”

Vulpes wrapped his long fingers around the fresh drink, but didn’t lift it. 

“Are you familiar with the Van Graffs?” he asked quietly.

Bumm Cumm leaned forward onto his elbows, closing just a little extra distance between them, and took a swig from the bottle.

“They run the Silver Rush. Never met ‘em.”   
  
“Yes. I’ve heard they are looking for a new hire.”

Vulpes gave him a pointed look, but its meaning was lost on him.

“Okay?”

Vulpes took a long drink. 

“You may be what they need.” Vulpes explained, staring him down. Oh. Vulpes wanted him to work for the Van Graffs? Why? Did the Legion suddenly become interested in energy weapons?

“I could use the caps.”

Vulpes smirked, which did something funny to Bumm Cumm’s insides.

“So I’ve heard.”

“What’ve you heard?”

“That you lost all of your caps.”

Bumm Cumm’s mouth went slack.

“How did you hear about that? I realized it only hours ago!”

Vulpes’s smirk grew, and he looked  _ so _ pleased with himself.

“You are not the only business I had in Freeside,  _ Mongrel _ , and you made quite a scene earlier.”

Bumm Cumm took a swig of his beer and tried to remember the faces he’d seen. He thought that he’d have recognized Vulpes if he was standing around watching him, but it’s not like he paid that close of attention to his surroundings. At least not in Freeside, where he could wipe the floor with all but the most well-armed Local. The thief from earlier being a prime example. He licked a drop off the rim of his beer bottle and was pleased to see Vulpes’s eyes follow his tongue.

“You see me splatter that thief, too?”

“Yes.” Vulpes said. Bumm Cumm leaned forward even closer.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Vulpes’s throat bobbed in a swallow and the hair on Bumm Cumm’s neck stood on end. 

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, and slouched back into his chair, “I like an audience.”

Vulpes hid behind his drink, and Bumm Cumm splayed out where he sat. He was buzzed, but the heat radiating off of him now was definitely thanks to the conversation. Vulpes wasn't immune to his flirting, no matter how many pissy looks he may throw around. Bumm Cumm finished off his beer and ran a hand through his hair, preening. He was overly aware of where his dick rested in his leather pants and wanted to do something about it. He wondered if Vulpes had a nice cock. 

Vulpes drummed his fingers on his glass and met Bumm Cumm’s gaze. They held it for two… three… four seconds too long. He bumped his knee against Vulpes’s again, left them touching. Vulpes broke eye contact, looked at the beer bottle in Bumm Cumm's hand. Fuck it.

“Do you want to take this conversation somewhere private?” he asked, so low it was a rumble in his chest, “I have a room for the night.”

Vulpes stared at him, stone still. He was a smart guy. Smarter than Bumm Cumm, no doubt. The proposition was clear, he’d have to be far more intoxicated than he looked to miss it.

“Alright.” he said, and finished his drink in one long gulp. 

Bumm Cumm hardly believed his ears. Was this really happening?

“Yeah? Really?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Vulpes reasserted, voice tight. He stood and brushed his hands over the front of his jacket. Bumm Cumm’s grin consumed his face. He jumped out of his chair and chugged the last half of his beer. Vulpes looked nervous, and he cast a glance out at the rest of the bar, but followed when Bumm Cumm led him up the stairs. 

“I’ve got the corner room,” he said, “I don’t think there’s anyone in the one next to it. If you care about that.”

“Do you?”

“I just told ya I like an audience,” Bumm Cumm replied cheekily, and shot Vulpes a dirty look. 

“I don’t.”

Bumm Cumm shrugged and decided to try and keep it down, then. He pushed open the door and tossed his duffelbag next to the bed. Vulpes followed close behind, arms crossed, and surveyed the room. 

“You’re nervous.” Bumm Cumm stated, and plucked Vulpes’s hat off his head. Vulpes watched him spin the hat in his hands, his expression tight.

“...It’s been a while.”

He dropped the hat on the nightstand and stepped into Vulpes’s space.   
  
“Don’t worry,” he said with a grin, “I don’t bite unless you ask.”

The difference in their height became very noticeable when Bumm Cumm got this close. The top of Vulpes’s head didn’t quite reach his nose. Bumm Cumm ducked down to kiss him and Vulpes’s hands snapped up to press against his chest. He expected to be pushed away, but instead the hands slid to his sides and Vulpes kissed him back. Noses pressed together, lips sliding and dragging, Bumm Cumm was in heaven. Vulpes wasn’t a half bad kisser, and god it had been too long. He felt Vulpes relax and sigh when he sucked on his lower lip. 

“You wanna make out,” Bumm Cumm asked, “or skip to getting your dick sucked?”

Vulpes’s pale skin and lips had taken on a nice shade of red. Bumm Cumm ran hands over Vulpes's shoulders, pushing his jacket off and tossing it on the nightstand with his hat.

“Eager, aren’t you?” Vulpes taunted, and started taking off his tie.

“You’re the one with  _ business _ , I dunno how much time you’ve got for messin’ around.”

Vulpes stepped back to strip his shirts off, and let them fall to the floor. 

“I’ve got time,” he said casually, which Bumm Cumm was more than pleased to hear.

“Great. Get on the bed, you're killing my neck.”

Vulpes sat down on the edge of the bed, eyeing the faded bedspread warily. Bumm Cumm tossed his Pipboy on the table, pulled his dirty cutoff over his head and enjoyed the way Vulpes scoured him with his eyes. 

"Wait, turn around." Vulpes said, clearly still getting a good look at him. He obeyed, basking in the attention, and lifted his arms to flex his back. He felt a finger trace the barbed wire tattooed down his spine and the sensation traveled straight to his dick. Once Vulpes was done viewing his muscles and ink, Bumm Cumm pushed the man onto his back and climbed over him. They kissed again, Bumm Cumm licking Vulpes's lips, and ground their bodies against one another. Vulpes ran a tongue between the points of his teeth.

“Is that blood in your mouth?” he asked, suspicion in his voice. Bumm Cumm leaned back to meet his eyes.

“You really wanna know?”

Vulpes considered it for a moment. He looked good like this, hot from arousal and laid back under him. Dark body hair against flushed skin. Fucking delicious. Uh… no pun intended.

“No. But I will take that as a ‘yes’.”

A large hand palming his cock distracted Vulpes pretty quick. The prewar slacks Vulpes wore were thin, and his dick still soft. Bumm Cumm had his mind set on fixing that. He pulled his lips from Vulpes’s and left hot, wet kisses across his chin and jaw. Vulpes turned his head to bare his neck and Bumm Cumm was more than pleased to oblige.

“No hickies or marks.” he demanded, much to Bumm Cumm’s disappointment.

It took a lot of self control not to suck bruises into the man's skin. Right in the front, where his armor and dumb dog hood wouldn't cover. He mouthed the sensitive skin under his jaw and along his throat gently enough not to damage skin. Vulpes breathed a sigh and stroked his back, grabbed his leather-clad ass. Bumm Cumm pressed one last spit-slick kiss to Vulpes's mouth before moving down his body. He followed the line of coarse hair, felt Vulpes's heavy breathing every time his lips met sweaty skin. He savored the hard muscle of Vulpes's upper abs, swirled his tongue in the man's navel, and raked his teeth through his happy trail. By the time he sat up to work on the button of Vulpes's slacks, the man was hard. 

Vulpes lifted his hips to assist with pulling his pants off. He spread his legs and folded his hands behind his head, looking comfortable and very much like he would be letting Bumm Cumm do all the work. Perhaps he would be more indignant about it if Vulpes wasn't so intimidating... and presenting him such a nice cock. He tossed the pants onto the floor, got down onto his elbows, and sucked Vulpes into his mouth.

Shifting his weight around to support him, Bumm Cumm got one hand around Vulpes and pumped into his mouth. His tongue chased the taste of salt, wriggled against the slit, and Vulpes hissed and swore under his breath. It would be a lie to say Bumm Cumm didn't enjoy this. Not so much the gagging and the ache of his jaw, but he loved making someone squirm for him. He liked the hot weight in his mouth and the taste of sweat and piss and precum. He liked it when Vulpes grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. Fruitlessly, though, as Bumm Cumm was  _ clearly _ the one in control. 

After a deep breath, he slid the head of Vulpes's dick against the soft back of his mouth. Nose pressed into curls, his hand was free to release his own dick from the confines of his pants. He bobbed his head and jerked himself off to the sound of Vulpes's ragged breathing. 

"Fuck," Vulpes gasped, " _ Fuck _ ."

Vulpes's hips canted up and Bumm Cumm gagged. He slipped off with an obscene, wet slurp and looked up at Vulpes. Panting through his grin. The man had sat up to watch him, mouth ajar and looking something short of awed. Pride rippled through his body like a high and Bumm Cumm held the eye contact with a sharp grin.

"Want to?"

"Want to what?"

"Fuck."

Vulpes stared at him, breathing hard. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking and it made Bumm Cumm's insides squirm.

"Or we could just finish each other like this," Bumm Cumm continued, uncomfortable with the lack of response, "Your call." 

Vulpes licked his lips and broke the eye contact.

"You can fuck me." he said, quietly.

Bumm Cumm immediately broke into a hot sweat. He did  _ not _ expect that. Holy shit.

"Yeah? I've got lube," he started, and sat up. Vulpes wouldn't meet his eyes, but he nodded and was drooling precum over himself. Bumm Cumm climbed off the bed and dug through his bag. All of his shit was out of place thanks to the tantrum he threw by the Strip gate, but eventually his fingers felt the tube. He tossed it at Vulpes.

"Here, it's gunna take me a sec to get these fuckin pants off."

He turned his back to Vulpes, so he wasn't leering at him, and started wriggling out of his tight, sweaty pants. The way Vulpes is acting made him think that he isn't used to hookups like this, but he's totally interested and that's all Bumm Cumm really cares about. 

Kicking off his leather pants, he left them inside-out in hopes they might dry out a little before he has to put them back on. He looked back to Vulpes and was greeted by the sight of the man on his knees. One hand holding himself up, the other fingering a palmful of the oil into himself. Bumm Cumm stepped behind him, leaned his knees against the bed, and admired the view. Vulpes had beautifully sculpted legs and an ass he could bounce a cap off of. He ran his hands along Vulpes's lower back and felt him shudder. 

Vulpes looked over his shoulder at him, those intense eyes finding his and then dropping to his dick. Bumm Cumm had mixed feelings about the look of  _ relief _ on his face. Yeah, Vulpes isn't the first to assume his freakish size would apply to all of him. He's got a normal sized piece and has yet to receive any complaints. Alright? Fuck off.

"You ready? I wanna leave good memories of my dick, so don't be all macho if somethin' hurts."

"Yes, I'm ready."

Bumm Cumm had  _ no _ intention of causing this particularly violent man any unwanted pain. So he slicked himself with so much oil he felt  _ wasteful _ . Not that he enjoyed hurting the people he slept with. Bumm Cumm is far too grateful to the person he's inside of to discourage them from wanting a repeat. But this one he  _ really _ needed to be careful with. He thumbed Vulpes's hole with a little more oil just to be safe.

And  _ fuck  _ was he glad he did. Bumm Cumm could feel Vulpes tense as he pushed into him. The ring of his ass was a vice around his cock.

" _ Relax _ ," he grit out. Then Vulpes obeyed, and Bumm Cumm slid into bliss.

He ran his hands over hard muscle and gripped the skin of Vulpes's ass, enjoying the tough body beneath him. Hands on Vulpes's hips, he started slow. Drag out. Push back in. Sliding against  _ hot _ and  _ wet _ and igniting every inch if his body with pleasure. Vulpes gripped the blankets and panted, his body squeezing around him. 

There were scars across Vulpes's back. Bumm Cumm hadn't noticed at first, but now he couldn't stop seeing them. Dozens of lines criss-crossed his back, faded but still there. He wondered if that was the Legion's handiwork. 

Vulpes shifted on his hands and the motion dragged so nicely on his cock it made his toes curl. He wanted to reward that. Bumm Cumm slouched forward and reached for Vulpes’s dick. He wrapped a big hand around it and Vulpes bucked into the grip. They found their rhythm there, pushing and pulling Vulpes between Bumm Cumm's hand and his cock. They both breathed obscenities and panted in the rapidly heating air of the room. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Bumm Cumm groaned, eyes glued to the sight of his cock disappearing into another man. Vulpes shifted his knees and then gasped. 

“You find your spot there, man?”

“Yes, stop talking.” Vulpes sniped back, and Bumm Cumm couldn’t believe that he was still a grumpy bitch mid-fuck. Vulpes sat up a little, and when Bumm Cumm thrust into him, he hissed through his teeth in pleasure. Bumm Cumm grinned and ran his hands up Vulpes’s stomach, feeling him up. His skin was tacky with sweat and his chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his hands. Yeah.  _ Yeah _ . He felt so good. He's gunna make Vulpes cum.

Bumm Cumm put his hand back on Vulpes's cock and jerked him with intent. The man gasped and grunted and trembled.

"Fuck," Vulpes said, "Oh fuck."

Vulpes bounced his lovely ass off of Bumm Cumm and came across the blanket. Bumm smacked a kiss on Vulpes's shoulder and then pushed him face-down onto the bed. Vulpes dug his fingers into the pillow, eyes shut.

"Don't cum in me," he snapped breathlessly.

"Yessir," Bumm Cumm replied, and came across his back instead. 

After a brief moment to admire and then wipe off the mess he'd made, Bumm Cumm flopped bonelessly onto the bed. Vulpes rolled onto his back as well, avoiding the streaks he'd left on the center of the blanket.

"I needed that," Bumm Cumm sighed, and glanced over at Vulpes, "You good?"

Vulpes met his gaze evenly. His face and chest were still a deep red flush and his expression had relaxed. Bumm Cumm liked it a whole lot more than the scathing looks he was used to receiving.

"Yes."

He let his arm slide off the bed and dug into his duffel. He found a carton of mostly-clean water and gulped down half of it. Vulpes accepted the other half and finished it off. Bumm Cumm had a nice body high, intoxicants and sex mixing into a pleasant thrumming in his limbs. Maybe he should offer to let Vulpes stay here. Bumm Cumm sleeps better with company, and he might not have a place to stay. 

“So, do you-” he started, but stopped when Vulpes sat up and looked down at him seriously.

“I should go,” a pause, “And  _ this  _ stays between us.” 

Bumm Cumm blanched. He wasn’t expecting that. Not that he was going to brag about hooking up with a high ranking spy, but he was under the impression that the Legion was cool with this kinda thing. Their symbol has a huge cock and balls on it and everything. Vulpes looked uncomfortable though, so maybe it was more complicated than he’d assumed.

“Yeah okay.” he said after too long of a pause, “Is it ‘cause I’m a  _ profilate  _ or a man?”

Vulpes slid off the bed and began gathering his clothes. Bumm Cumm found his cigarettes and Benny’s lighter. 

“Both.” Vulpes said, pulling his shirts back on. Bumm Cumm took a long drag of his cig and processed the information. He’d have to ask about the Legion’s rules when Vulpes wasn’t obviously trying to escape. Vulpes put his hat back on and made for the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, turned back to Bumm Cumm and dragged his eyes across him. That was a promising sign.

“I’ll see you in two weeks.”


	7. Chapter 7

The Van Graffs did not give Bumm Cumm the job.

In fact, he didn’t even make it into the Silver Rush, he showed up bright and early, but the guy at the door took one look at him and told him to fuck off. Frustrated, he went over to Mick and Ralph’s place to ask if they had any way for him to make money. After they finished laughing at him, Ralph told him that they could make him a passport to the Strip but only if he gets approval from The King first.

Bumm Cumm was pissed that he had to get  _ permission _ for fucking anything, let alone from some jerkoff who calls himself The King. The anger melted away when he discovered that The King has a cyborg dog and, most importantly, that he could  _ pet  _ the cyborg dog. The King had heard of him, or at least of the tall guy who did work for the Garrets and splattered a few thugs, and hired Bumm Cumm to snoop on one of his bodyguards. The guy, Orish or whatever, clearly wasn’t very bright because he didn’t question why a man covered in raider tats with a power fist on needed a bodyguard. The little charade Orish had going was clever, but his actors sucked, so it took a lot of effort not to laugh. The gunfire must be enough to spook the soft NCR tourists. Bumm Cumm held his tongue and went to narc on him.

The King was arguing with one of his underlings when he got back. He caught something about the NCR and Locals, but they used so much weird jargon that Bumm Cumm wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. He sat in one of the chairs near the door and busied himself with finding all the places that Rex liked to be scratched. The dog had a real tail, but it creaked with every excited wag which was kinda ridiculously cute.

“I see Rex has taken a liking to you.”

Bumm Cumm looked up at the King, who had apparently finished his conversation and came to him. The man watched the two of them thoughtfully. 

“Dogs love me,” Bumm Cumm explained, “I grew up around herding dogs.”

The King grunted thoughtfully, and asked about Orris. Bumm Cumm gave him a rundown, did his laughing, and got paid nicely for the information. 

“If you really want to win my favor,” The King started, “Take Rex over to Julie. He’s sick and she’s the only one I know who can fix him.”

Bumm Cumm looked back down at Rex, who whined as if he knew what they were talking about. He had no idea if it was the real issue, but the goo Rex’s brain floated in looked murky and yellowish. There was no way that could be good for him.   
  
“Okay.” he said, “Who’s Julie?”

The King looked surprised by the question.   
  
“Julie Farkas, of the Followers. She and her group help out around here, and are the best docs around. They’re just North of here, in the Old Mormon Fort.”

He'd heard mention of doctors in Freeside, now that he thought about it. Bumm Cumm stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. The King scratched Rex's cheek.

"Alright, Rexie, this guy is taking you to Julie."

Rex barked and wagged his tail. After a brief conversation about Rex’s quirks, the two were off. 

Finding the Followers wasn’t difficult. Bumm Cumm had passed the building a handful of times but never realized it was used for anything other than a squat. Most buildings in Freeside are. Turns out the place was full of tents and medical…  _ stuff _ . A ghoul with a shotgun and a cowboy hat eyed him down suspiciously, but relaxed somewhat upon seeing Rex.

“What do you need?”   
  


A grumpy looking blond guy with thick glasses addressed him. Bumm Cumm liked the bow shape of his mouth, and gave the man a look over that made him blush. 

“I’m looking for a ‘Julie’.”

The man pointed towards the back of the courtyard, at a woman with a tall mohawk. 

“She’s in charge around here, and busy.” the man said, “But you’re here with Rex, so I’d wager you’re here on The Kings orders.”

Bumm Cumm gave him a vague reply and made his way to her. Julie was finishing a conversation with another Follower when she saw him approach. Rex whined and wagged his tail when she turned her attention to them.

“Hi!,” she greeted him, a big smile on her face, “I’m Julie Farkas, and I don’t think we’ve met.”

Bumm Cumm returned the smile, and was surprised that she didn’t react to his teeth. 

“Nope. I’m Bumm Cumm. The King wanted you to look at his dog.”

Julie crouched down and ruffled Rex’s cheeks. He licked her hands and thumped his creaky tail. 

“I already did, and nothing has changed. I don’t have the equipment or expertise to fix Rex’s brain. His best chance is to plead for Doctor Henry’s help.”

“Where’s Doctor Henry?”

“Jacobstown, the Mutant refuge. They allow human visitors, and Doctor Henry has lived there a while now.”

Bumm Cumm was not thrilled to hear that. He’s seen Super Mutants before and he was hoping to avoid them as much as possible. Growing up, he’d heard stories of the super mutants farther out West. If he looked as unenthusiastic as he felt, Julie didn’t notice.

“Take the 95 North until you find the road West that leads up the mountains. It’s not hard to spot.”

Bumm Cumm punched the info into his Pipboy and sighed. He doesn’t have the drive to scrape together another couple thousand caps on short notice, so he’s gotta get a passport to get back on the Strip. Even though it means walking into a super mutant den. Fucking great. He looked down at Rex for support. The dog cocked his head and stuck out his tongue. Yeah, okay, he’d do it for Rex. He can’t say no to a face like that.

“Thanks for the directions,” Bumm Cumm said, and planned to leave there. Julie stopped him with a surprisingly rough hand on his arm. 

“Wait! If you’re going to see him, could you ask him if he has any excess medical supplies? Rad-X and Radaway aren’t nearly as useful to a bunch of mutants, and we’re desperately low.”

Irritation shot through him and he grit his teeth. What about him gave the idea that he did favors for any fucking scav that asked? This doctor lady seems nice and all, but nice people tend to think that gratitude is payment. Bumm Cumm can’t eat, smoke, or spend gratitude. 

“You gunna make it worth my time?” he managed, after the initial heat of rage cooled.

“I um,” Julie started, looking a little distressed, “I don’t have much to offer, we’re low on everything. I can offer blankets, magazines, a place to sleep?”

“You got any comics?”

“Yes!” she said, her body language switching to hope, “Yes, you can have your pick if you bring back supplies!”   
  


“Deal.”

They shook on it, and Julie let him leave without hassle. He gave the blond and the guards polite nods as he made his way out. It was probably a smart move to stay on the good side of the overly-generous doctors, anyways. 


End file.
